The Engagement
by George Stark II
Summary: House/Wilson slash. House gets engaged to Cuddy only to discover his best friend isn't as supportive as he thought he'd be. Takes place sometime after "Small Sacrifices."
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** House/Wilson slash. House gets engaged to Cuddy only to discover his best friend isn't as supportive as he thought he'd be. Takes place sometime after "Small Sacrifices."

**A/N: **Hello readers. Sorry for going so long without publishing something. I actually wasn't even going to publish this (I had kind of given up on it) but HousianVoices kindly requested I write another story so I decided to give this another shot. However, unlike most of my stories, I'm publishing the first chapter before I've actually finished the story, so I can't say for sure how many chapters there are or how often I will publish. I do promise, though, not to be one of those authors that publishes a new chapter every so often and then disappears off the face of the earth leaving you hanging. The ending is already planned and I will finish the story, it just might take awhile for me to get there. Gentle prodding always helps. Oh, and I'm trying something a little new with my POV, so hopefully it will work out and not be confusing. Hint: Wilson, **House, **_Cuddy._

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House, Wilson or Cuddy. But I think House and Wilson would be happier if I did own them, because I'd force them to confront their feelings for each other.

The Engagement

Prologue

He slides his tray down to the desserts and grabs a slice of apple pie, complaining loudly about them being out of chocolate cake.

"Wilson, you're a girl, you like to bake," he informs me with a glance. I try very hard not to roll my eyes, but I can't keep the small smile off my face. "If I come over tonight, you'll have a chocolate cake waiting for me, right?"

I scoff. "You'd just complain about the fact that I used whole-wheat flour," I point out.

He shrugs. "Just add enough sugar so I won't be able to tell the difference. Do...whatever your inner housewife tells you to do to make it taste good."

"Mm-hmm," I mutter, resisting the temptation to add a slice of pie to my own plate. I remember my love handles and slide the tray down farther, looking at House instead of the desserts.

Another temptation that's agony to resist. He's facing away from me, concentrating hard on selecting a beverage, so he doesn't notice me checking him out. The careless rumple of his clothing, just the opposite of mine, echoing his not-caring-what-anyone thinks attitude that, like confidence, just adds to the allure. I shake my head in fascination. If I ever tried that, my self-consciousness would be so glaringly obvious it would make me look ridiculous. Not House, though, although he does look just as sexy in a suit and tie on the few occasions he wears them as he does in jeans and a wrinkled button-down. He looks sexy no matter what he wears. Or maybe I'm just a little biased.

"He'll be paying," House informs the cashier with a jerk of the thumb toward me after finally choosing a drink.

I pretend to be irritated, though House probably knows better.

"Why don't we just get a joint checking account?" I suggest to him as I hand over the cash. "That way it'll at least _feel_ like you're paying without you actually having to."

He turns to me, and his bright eyes sparkle so that my breath almost catches in my throat. I can't look away even if I'd wanted to, which I most certainly don't.

"Exactly," he smirks, eyes not leaving mine. I can barely hear what he's saying. It feels like I'm drowning, staring at him like this, and his voice comes from far away, but I try to focus. "It'll _feel _like I'm paying. It's not like I can't afford my lunch, Wilson, I make as much as you do. But it tastes better when it _feels_ like someone else is paying."

The smirk continues as he turns away, picking up his cane and making his way to a table without waiting for me. I smile back, now that he couldn't see it, and follow him to go eat lunch.

—

**I flip through the channels on her TV. I'm bored. I'm not really watching, I'm just waiting for her to put the kid to bed, so then she can come to bed with me. I smile at the thought. The best part of the day. It was nice, a few months ago, when she would just come over to my place to hook up and then go back to hers, but this way we do it more often, sometimes in the morning. And she likes when I stay over. Like bringing us closer or something like that. It's cool. We're in a good place, I think. Not really living together, but kind of. I can still escape to my place when I want some privacy, but I can also come over here whenever I want to spend time with her or sleep with her. It's like the best of both worlds.**

**Finally she comes down the hall, looking tired but smiling.**

"**Rachel's asleep," she announces, joining me on the couch.**

"**About time," I comment, clicking the TV off and setting down the remote to look at her. I lean forward to kiss her, but she backs away.**

"**Actually, I wanted to talk about something first," she says, looking at me somberly.**

**I feel the dread begin to creep through my body. What have I done this time? I wrack my brain, trying to think. It can't be that she found out my apology to her was fake, or she'd be angrier. Or ignoring me. I don't think I've done anything to offend her lately. I've been doing...not all my clinic hours, but most of them. More than I did before we started doing it. What does she want?**

**She waits a moment, gauging my reaction, before pressing on. "Now that you...you know, you spend most nights here now. You eat dinner and sometimes breakfast here, you have some clothes in my dresser..."**

**She's gonna ask me to make my move-in official. Great. So now when I **_**don't**_** feel like spending the night with her and the kid, she'll try and guilt me into staying anyway. Maybe she'll even try and get me to babysit without arranging it ahead of time. Why does she keep having to change things? We're doing just fine the way we are now, let's just keep it this way.**

**She continues, "...So, since you're kind of already moved in here, I was thinking maybe you could start helping out with things like the mortgage and groceries."**

**What? I stare at her for a second. She's looking up at me, slightly nervous.**

"**Lisa, you never even asked me to move in with you," I point out, watching her. "Don't you think that part should come before asking me to fork over cash for things you've been doing just fine paying for yourself?"**

**She furrows her brow at me. "I know we never **_**officially**_** moved in together, House, but for all intents and purposes, you basically live here. I'm your girlfriend, not your mom. Since both of us are living here I think it's only fair that we split the cost of the mortgage and the bills."**

"**I've still got my own rent and bills to pay," I argue. "If we're gonna split things 50/50, then shouldn't you be paying half my rent too?"**

**She rolls her eyes, giving me an additional twinge of annoyance. "Yeah, if we actually spent any time there. It's been weeks since I've even been over, and even when I do come over it's just for a little while, I don't actually eat or sleep there."**

"**Fine," I say, getting up off the couch and looking away from her. "I'll go home. Next time you want to spend the night together, come over. I won't even charge you for it."**

"**House, come on, that's not what I want," she says, rolling her eyes as she gets off the couch to follow me. "I love the way we have things now—we get to spend more time together and I don't even have to get a babysitter for Rachel. It's a great arrangement."**

"**But I'm not actually living here," I point out, turning back to her. "What, if your sister were to come spend a week here would you send her a bill?"**

"**That's different," she says, rolling her eyes again. "Maybe you don't spend every night here and maybe you don't always come straight here after work, but you're doing more than just visiting. It's permanent."**

**We look at each other a minute. I don't comment on the 'permanence,' though I don't know what fairy tale she's living in that she thinks we're not gonna break up someday. I don't want it to happen anytime soon, but it will eventually. "So," I say, watching her carefully, "**_**are**_** you asking me to move in for real?"**

**She looks away for a second, hesitating. "If..." she says eventually, glancing back at me, "...you agree to pay half the mortgage, bills, and groceries...then I guess it's only fair that you...live here as well."**

**I don't really **_**want**_** to live here as well. But I even more don't want to fight, and I am still hoping to get laid tonight. And it's not that unreasonable for her to want some help, even though she makes more than me and doesn't need it. "Compromise," I say, forcing a small smile and stepping closer to her. I wrap my arms around her. "The key to to lasting relationships."**

**She smiles back and wraps her arms around me in return. She really does believe we can work, doesn't she? Well, believing it makes her happy, and it's better when she's happy. I lean down and kiss her.**


	2. Chapter 2

**It's two weeks after I 'moved in' with Cuddy. I still don't feel like I really live there—when I think of home, my first thought is still my apartment.**

**Well, better that than Wilson's condo. It did take me awhile to get used to the idea of that not being home anymore. But that's over and done with now, it doesn't matter anymore.**

**Cuddy's mad at me because I spent a few hours at the apartment after work last night. I didn't realize I wasn't allowed any me-time now that I live with her. At least she didn't cut me off from sex again, but she wasn't as into it as usual. So today I'm being a good little boy and coming straight to her house after work. Well, technically I'm cheating by staying late at work 'working on my case' when it's not strictly necessary, but Cuddy doesn't need to know I've spent the last two hours watching TV in the doctors' lounge.**

**I walk through the door, and she glances up at me from her book but doesn't get up to kiss me hello. Yup, still mad. It's like a permanent state for her. Like my permanent state of being in pain for the stupid leg.**

"**Hey," I greet, and she mutters a soft "Hey," back without looking up. I set my stuff down and sit down next to her. I'd rather be at my own apartment right now but I know that'll just make her angrier, and hopefully by being here I can fix things back to normal. Maybe after some good sex she'll forget about my indiscretion.**

**As I'm about to lean forward to try and kiss her, she turns to me. "House, I need a check for a hundred and fifty dollars."**

**Thoughts of kissing and sex temporarily leave my brain. "What for?" I demand, staring at her. "I paid my half of the bills last week. And you need to get a new cable package—neither of us watch the Lifetime Movie Network, why are we paying for it?"**

"**It's my background noise while I'm doing laundry," she says stiffly. "And I went grocery shopping today, that's what the one-fifty is for."**

"**You spent three hundred dollars on groceries?" I clarify.**

"**Technically, I spent two hundred ninety-six dollars and forty-seven cents," she says, putting her book down and looking at me. "But I thought it would be childish to quibble over three dollars, so I rounded."**

"**When I agreed, I thought I'd be in for fifty bucks a week," I point out. "And I bet you didn't even buy my beer—I'm sure that I'll have to pay for myself. What did you buy that cost three hundred dollars?"**

"**What is this—the inquisition?" she asks, and I raise my eyebrows. "You want me to get you the receipt?" She raises a hand and starts ticking off on her fingers. "I bought bread, I bought orange juice, fruit, vegetables, milk, toilet paper, shampoo, diapers and pull-ups for Rachel–"**

"–**Wait a minute," I cut off, staring at her. "You're expecting **_**me**_** to pay for Rachel's diapers?"**

**She rolls her eyes. "House, it's part of the grocery shopping. You agreed to pay for half, so pay for half. It doesn't matter what's included in there—it's not like I went out and bought a five-hundred dollar dress or something. It's all necessities."**

"**Not my necessities," I argue. "She's not even my kid, why do I have to support her?"**

"**Because she's **_**my**_** kid and you're my boyfriend who's currently living with me," she answers, narrowing her eyes at me. "Why are we fighting about this? I sign your paychecks, House, I know you can afford it just fine."**

"**So can you," I point out. "You make more than me. I'll pay for half of stuff we both use, but I'm not paying for Rachel's stuff. I'm not her parent."**

"**Oh, believe me, I know you're not her parent," she says, beginning to raise her voice now and glaring at me. "You never spend any time with her or show any sort of interest in her. You're not helping me out at all with her potty training—do you know how much more progress she'd make if you'd take her to the bathroom when she has to go instead running to me every time? Half the time she has accidents because you have to come get me when I'm in the middle of something and by the time I get there it's too late."**

"**It's not my job to potty train her," I say, glowering at her. "Besides, **_**she's**_** the one asking for you. The one time you were in the shower and I tried to take her she wouldn't even let me."**

"**Gee, I wonder why that is," she says sarcastically. "Maybe because you never bother to hide the fact that you don't even like her!"**

**I can't help rolling my eyes, even though it just makes her madder. "Cuddy, she's two. What is there to like or not like? You know I've never been interested in having kids, especially when they're this little. For most women it'd be a deal-breaker. But because it's you, Cuddy, I let the kid thing slide and I'll still be with you. What I'm not going to be is the kid's father. You knew this when we got together."**

"**I'm not asking you to be her father," she says with a glare. "I'm asking you to be supportive. Lucas always–"**

"–**I'm not Lucas," I interrupt, glaring at her. "You left him for me. Because you're in love with me. Or has that changed since you discovered I meant what I said about not changing for you?"**

"**I **_**am**_** in love with you," she says, though her defiant glare holds no affection whatsoever. "That doesn't change the fact that I think you can be a real asshole sometimes. Every little thing I ask you for you make into some huge sacrifice just to...what? Just to get on my nerves? To make it seem like you're the victim here? Or is it just your stubborn determination to get your way? You're worse than Rachel sometimes—you throw a tantrum over every little thing and sometimes I start to wonder if it's even worth it."**

**We're still staring at each other, but I'm not glaring anymore. Her last words stabbed a shot of fear through me—fear we might break up. I can't let that happen. Without her, I'm fucked. She's all I've got.**

"**You don't think I'm worth it," I repeat without letting the fear show on my face. I expect her to back down, say that that's not how she really feels, just her frustration getting the better of her.**

**But she doesn't break eye contact with me and she keeps her arms folded across her chest. "Sometimes I don't," she says.**

**She's doing it again. Just like every argument we have, she threatens our relationship if I don't give her her way. And I have to fold because I can't lose her and she knows it. Well, it's worked for every other fight so far, so why should this one be any different?**

"**All right," I say, looking away, irritated with myself for being so weak and always giving in. "I'm a jerk, I don't do a good enough job of supporting you and your decision to be a mother. I'll pay my half of Rachel's stuff."**

**She just scoffs, and I look back up at her. "That's what you think this is about?" she says, staring at me. "What, you think you can just write me a check and this will all go away?"**

"**It started because I wouldn't write you a check in the first place," I point out, narrowing my eyes. "That's what you wanted and that's what you're getting. You win."**

"**House, it's not about the money," she says, looking down and shaking her head. "You just don't get it, do you? It's not about you not wanting to pay for groceries after you agreed to—it's that you don't care. Even now you're only giving in because you think we'll break up if you don't, not because you actually care. I want a boyfriend who actually wants to be a part of my daughter's life, a boyfriend I can have a family with."**

"**That sounds an awful lot like Lucas," I say, watching her. "I thought you left him because you wanted me."**

"**I **_**do**_** want you," she argues. "I just want you to love me."**

**I have to fight hard not to scoff at this. "I **_**do**_** love you," I say. "I told you that."**

"**Well you're not doing a great job of showing it," she says, crossing her arms again. "You obviously don't love me enough to want to be part of my family. Rachel is my daughter—you can't have me and not her. If that's what you were expecting, House, you're way off."**

"**I told you I–" I start, but cut myself off and look away, as does she. What's the use? She's not gonna change her mind. She'll leave me if I don't give her what she wants. And she... "You want us to be a family," I say without looking at her.**

**In my peripheral vision, I see her nod. She's not looking at me either. She's brought her feet up to the edge of the sofa and she's holding her knees, staring at the unlit fireplace. "Who doesn't?" she whispers. "A home where you live with the people you love...a family...everyone wants that."**

**I don't. I want her. I've got nothing against Rachel, but I don't love her. I love Cuddy. She's the one I want to be with. But I know what I have to do for that to happen, and I take a deep breath because I haven't actually prepared for this. But it needs to happen. It's the only way to keep her from leaving me.**

**From somewhere in Cuddy's ceiling I watch myself reach over and take her hand. I realize I'm having an out-of-body experience. I don't have control over the words coming out of my mouth—they're out before I can change my mind and there's nothing I can do to stop them.**

"**Then marry me."**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I hope this chapter isn't too OOC. I really like it.

_Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god! My heart races as I stare at him, unable to speak for shock. I can't believe it. I must be dreaming or something. But I'm not, I know I'm not. This is real, this is happening. This...has just happened. He really did just propose to me._

"_House," I say, only to find my voice has become a whisper. "I...yes, of course!"_

_He smiles in relief and I hold the sides of his face in my hands and kiss him. I can't believe it! I'm _engaged!_ And I'm engaged to House! House, the last man I would ever expect to want to get married. This is exactly what I always dreamed of, though I never thought it would happen. I kiss him fiercely, intent on communicating all my love and desire through my kiss._

_This is it. This is the start of our lives together, and I know at last, finally, everything will be right now. No, not just because we're getting married. I'm not a fool, I know people get divorced all the time. But because he proposed to me, because he asked me to marry him, I see that he truly does love me and want a life with me. We can be a family. He can be my husband and Rachel's stepfather if not her father. All I wanted was for him to show he's committed to Rachel and me, and now he has. Oh, it's all I've ever wanted._

_I hold him tighter and we get up from the sofa, stumbling toward the bedroom. My mind feels like a whirlwind as we make love with more passion than we ever have before. I stroke his hair and kiss the side of his face, whispering to him that this is the most romantic night of my life. It truly is._

_He falls asleep soon after but I lie awake, beaming at my ceiling, as wedding plans fly through my mind. I can't wait to tell my mother—who's in danger of becoming a spinster now, bitch? There will be so many flowers and Rachel will make just the most charming flower girl! House isn't religious, so there won't be the usual argument over who's place of worship to have the ceremony at...this will be just the most perfect wedding! It really is a good thing I adopted Rachel instead of getting pregnant, at least this way I've still got my body and I'll look just as stunning in my wedding dress as my sister did. I'll have to choose a caterer, and we'll want a big venue for the reception. Oh, planning this wedding is going to be so much fun! House won't care about things like what style of wedding bands we choose and what sort of decorations we have, so I'll be able to pick those sorts of things out. My mother will want her say, of course, but after all it will be _my_ wedding, so I'll get the final word..._

_Eventually I do fall asleep, head resting against my...fiancé's shoulder, dreaming of streamers and champagne and white roses._

—

My office door bursts open, so I hurriedly finish the conversation and reset the phone in its cradle. My brow furrows in slight concern as House slumps to the couch looking exhausted. I watch him as he taps his cane on the floor between his knees.

"What's up?" I ask when he doesn't volunteer anything.

He sighs. "Cuddy and I are getting married."

I pause in the midst of putting my pen back down on my desk and stare at him. "Say that again," I instruct, though I know perfectly well I heard him right.

He nods. "I asked her last night."

"But...why?" I inquire after failing to find a more polite way to ask. "You...despise weddings."

House shrugs. "She wants to...and maybe this way we won't break up."

"'Maybe this way you won't break up,'" I repeat in disbelief. "Well that's a great reason to get married. I'm sure it'll last."

He glares at me. "You're one to talk, Mr. Divorced-Three-Times. At least I'm marrying her because I don't want to break up with her, not because I'm trying so hard to rescue her from something I convince myself I'm in love with her."

I glare back at him. "This isn't about the mistakes I've made—in fact, you'd think after watching me go through three disasters of marriages, you'd have learned from them."

"Why should I?" he asks. "You haven't. Less than a month ago you tried to propose to Sam again. What position are you in to judge me?"

"The same position you're in whenever I get engaged," I retort, not admitting he has a point. "You always do everything you can to convince me it's a bad idea. You mock and ridicule–"

"–Because when you do it, it always _is_ a bad idea," he interrupts.

"And you and Cuddy are gonna last 'til death do you part," I say without hiding the disbelief in my voice.

"That's the...idea," he mutters with a shrug.

"House, I don't think I can support this," I say, sighing. "At least when I got engaged I was hopeful about my fiancées' and my future, but you don't even seem the least bit excited about marrying Cuddy. Is this really what you want?"

**I hesitate a moment before nodding. It's not completely true. What I **_**really**_** want is him, but he'll never know that. No one will ever no that. And since I can't have him, the next best thing is not being alone. And I really **_**do**_** want to not be alone. And right now, the closest thing to doing that is marrying Cuddy. Does us getting married guarantee we'll last? Of course not. But it makes it more likely, and not just because breaking up is more of a hassle once you're legally wed.**

"**I know when you get engaged...or...just start any relationship whatsoever, I try to talk you out of it," I begin. And part of the reason for that is because I'm just jealous, but I don't tell him that. "I also eventually give in and let you get married to Ms. Wrong, I stand by your side at the altar and resist the temptation to sabotage the whole thing. All I'm asking is for you to do the same thing. Be my best man, throw me a rockin' bachelor party, make some sap-filled toast about how much you love me that'll make Cuddy cry..."**

"**You've..." he starts, and my eyes click to his as he smirks, "...never made a sap-filled toast about how much you love me at my weddings."**

**I shrug. "That's because if I charmed you into running off with me mere hours after you've professed your love to someone else it would ruin the whole wedding. And after you'd just spent all that money..."**

**He just chuckles, looking at his desk. Neither of us say anything for a moment, and slowly his smile fades. **

"**What kind of engagement ring did you get her?" he asks eventually.**

**Looking at his floor, I shake my head. "I didn't plan it in advance or anything. It just happened."**

"**Are you going to get her an engagement ring?"**

**Why? What difference does it make? I shrug. "I'm not trying to **_**bribe**_** her into marrying me. And even if I was, she already said yes."**

**Wilson shakes his head and sighs before opening a drawer of his desk and grabbing something. He tosses the little box over to me and I flip it open to reveal a diamond engagement ring.**

"**You keep these things in your desk?" I ask, shaking my head. "No wonder you've been divorced three-and-a-half times."**

"**I don't **_**keep them in my desk**_**," he says, rolling his eyes. Then he sobers slightly. "That's the ring I was going to give to Sam. Might as well get some use out of it."**

**I stare down at the giant rock on the little gold band and then back up at him. "Assuming you got her a real diamond," I say eventually, "you could pawn the thing and use the money to buy something else. A new car comes to mind."**

"**I don't want to pawn it," he says. "Any time I'd look at whatever I buy I'd think of her."**

"**So you keep it in your desk instead," I conclude. He looks away and shrugs. I look down at the ring again, touching the diamond with my finger. "You're just **_**giving**_** me a twenty-thousand dollar engagement ring."**

**Wilson is staring at the floor, his hand glued to the back of his neck. "Yeah," he shrugs before looking back up at me. "I guess I am."**

**That's why I'm friends with Wilson. Not because he just **_**gives**_** me twenty-thousand dollar engagement rings, but because just when I start to make sense of him, he goes and does things no normal human being would do and sets me back even further in figuring him out. I don't even think his messiah complex can account for this.**

**If I were anyone else, he would expect me to refuse it. Tell him there's no way I can accept something this expensive for nothing in return. But I'm not anyone else. I'm me. He knows I'm not gonna gush that I can't accept his rejection ring. If he wants to reuse it, make someone else happy, fine.**

**I flip the box shut and nod at him. He nods back. I put it in my pocket, grab my cane and get up.**


	4. Chapter 4

_Out of the corner of my eye I see House coming toward my office and I can't help smiling to myself. We're engaged! I still can't believe it. It's only been three days but I've already called my entire family to tell them and started looking at dresses online._

_I look up at him as he enters, trying hard not to smile because he's probably only here to get permission to remove a patient's esophagus or something, but I can't help it._

"_What's up?" I ask, setting my pen down and leaning back comfortably in my chair._

_He stands in front of my desk, looking at me. "Do you want an engagement ring or anything?" he asks, and my smile fades slightly. Why does he even have to ask that? Of _course_ I want an engagement ring—what girl doesn't? Do I expect him to go out and buy me one, I guess, would be the better question._

"_No," I say, shaking my head. "Of course not. I...we're already engaged, there's no reason to...don't worry about it, House."_

"_You sure?" he asks, looking me over. He puts a hand into his pocket. "Because I've already got one here."_

_My mouth falls open as he pulls out a small red box and opens it for me to see an enormous diamond solitaire on a simple gold band. "Oh my god," I whisper, feeling like time has stopped in its tracks. I tear my eyes away from the ring to stare at my fiancé in shock. It's like being proposed to all over again. "House," I whisper, feeling tears forming in the back of my eyes. I get up and walk around my desk to be closer to him, reaching a hand out to touch his face. "It's absolutely gorgeous. I don't know what to say."_

"_You want it, then?" he asks, and I chuckle as a couple of tears slide down my cheeks._

"_Of course I want it." I hold out my hand, and he pulls the ring out of the box and slides it onto my finger. He gives me a small smile and I kiss him, holding the back of his neck with my left hand. "Thank you so much," I whisper into his ear. "I can't tell you how much this means to me."_

_It's not even the ring. Seriously, I'm not so materialistic that I think the size of the diamond is the depth of his dedication. It's the fact that he cared enough to do it. Even though I'd already agreed to marry him, he actually went out and bought me a ring. That...that is what gets me._

_I hold him close. I picture our futures together. We're happy and we're in love._

—

_The house is quiet, and I revel in the silence. Rachel is asleep and House almost is. His eyes are closed and I can feel him next to me, but his breathing is still silent and it always gets heavier once he falls asleep. I hold up my hand and stare at the ring on my finger, which is reflecting the moonlight streaming through the window. I can still hardly believe he bought it for me. I glance over at him and know, in this instant, that we are going to work out. Never in my life have I felt so loved, never have I felt such a strong feeling that my life was on the right track._

_I lean over and kiss his scruffy cheek, making a mental note to come up with a way to bribe him into shaving for the wedding. He grunts and opens his eyes, turning slightly to look at me. "What?"_

"_Nothing," I whisper with a smile, stroking the side of his face. I kiss him. "We're getting married," I breathe._

"_I know," he mutters._

"_We need to pick a date," I remind him, still stroking his face. "I've been calling everyone and telling them and they all want to know the date and I have nothing to give them."_

_He settles back into the bed. "Hmm...April," he says, closing his eyes again._

_I prop myself up on my elbows, staring at him. "That's less than three months away," I protest, staring at him. "That will barely give us any time for planning. Think about it—we've got to book a venue, we've gotta find a caterer, we need to choose flowers and decide what kind of cake we want..."_

_He groans and grimaces, and I furrow my brow. "Can't we talk about this in the morning?" he whines. "Or...not with me present?"_

_I'm starting to get annoyed with him now. "House, it's our wedding," I explain. "I don't want to just sign some papers at the courthouse like I did last time. I want a nice wedding, and I nice wedding requires planning in advance."_

"_Fine," he says with a sigh, starting to sit up and looking at me again. "When do you want to get married, then?"_

"_Well...I was thinking December," I say slowly, looking at him._

"'_December'?" he repeats, staring at me. "Cuddy, that's almost a year from now. How long do you want this engagement to last?"_

"_A year is a fairly typical engagement time," I point out. "House, I can't wait to be married to you either, but we're gonna spend the rest of our lives together anyway. It's not like I'm cutting you off sex until then or anything. But planning a wedding can be very stressful—and you know how busy I am as it is. I want plenty of time to get everything done."_

"_We don't need a ginormous wedding," He argues. "We'll find a hotel, pick some food and decorations and send out some invites."_

"_All of those things take time," I remind him. "And I need to call my rabbi and see when the temple has a free weekend to perform the ceremony. Maybe if they're not too booked we can push it up to November or October, but there's still a lot to do. I want to go to New York to buy a dress, and–"_

"–_hold it," he interrupts, watching me. "You want to have the wedding at a synagogue?"_

"_Well yeah," I say, looking back at him. Where did he think we'd get married? "Almost all of my family's Jewish, my mom would hate me if I didn't have a religious ceremony. And obviously we're not gonna have it at a church because you're–"_

"–_I'm an atheist," he interrupts again. "I'm not trying to marry you under the Law of Moses or in front of any god. That's not what it's about for me, that's not what I want."_

"_But what about what _I _want?" I ask him, looking into his eyes. "House, it's my wedding too, and having a Jewish ceremony is important to me. It's important to my family. I understand that you don't believe in god and I respect that, but I want you to respect my wishes, too."_

"_You're not even religious," he points out._

"_But my family is."_

"_They're not the ones getting married."_

"_House, this is something I really want," I say, taking his hand and squeezing his fingers._

"_And it's something I really _don't_ want," he answers, not responding to my touch._

_I sigh, looking away from him. "I don't see why it even makes any difference to you. If you wanted to have it at a church or something, if it was a thing you were really passionate about, then I would understand better, but you don't. If, in your eyes, we're just getting married under the laws of New Jersey, then what difference does it make whether it happens in a synagogue or a courtroom or wherever else you were planning on getting married?"_

"_I was thinking a hotel," he says stiffly. "And it makes a difference because I don't want to vow to take you as my wife in front of god and our witnesses. To me that's a lie. I don't think you want me to be lying through my teeth while I'm vowing to spend the rest of my life with you."_

_I glare at him, truly hurt. How could he even say that?_

**I can tell I'm in trouble now. It's easy to forget exactly how important this stupid wedding is to her, especially since it's not that important to me. I want to get married to her so I can continue to be with her, not because it makes any difference to me whether we're legally wed or not.**

**But it's still my wedding, too, I want to take it somewhat seriously, and I don't want a religious ceremony. If her rabbi makes me say or agree to anything about god, it would be a lie to me because god doesn't exist. She says she respects my belief, so why doesn't she get that?**

**I don't even think it's about religion or not anymore. It's probably just become a power struggle. But I've got to try and salvage it somehow.**

"**Look," I say, letting a sigh slip through in my voice. "It's late, we're both tired, we don't need to decide this now. Let's just get some sleep and we'll revisit this another time." I'm already dreading it.**

**To my relief, though, she sighs and nods, laying back down and turning away from me, adjusting under the covers to get comfortable. I lay back down myself and wonder fleetingly if I would ever have this sort of a problem with Wilson. I remind myself that I'm not **_**with**_** Wilson. I tell myself that now that I am **_**with**_** Cuddy, I need to stop thinking about Wilson.**

**The next day, she agrees to have the wedding at a hotel on the condition that her rabbi still officiate. I figure it's the closest compromise we can reach, even though neither of us are really getting what we want. Except that we're both getting married to each other. If we can last, then maybe all this will be worth it.**


	5. Chapter 5

I chew my sandwich, studying him carefully as he plops himself down in the booth across from me and helps himself to my chocolate pudding. His shoulders are slumped and he looks defeated. I swallow.

"I thought newly engaged people are supposed to be happy," I comment, watching him suck at the spoon and pushing inappropriate mental images away from my mind. "Why is it that every time I see you you look like you've crawled out of the ruins of a train wreck?"

He glares at me. "Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to plan a wedding?" Before I can answer the obvious, he shakes his head. "No, you're probably like Cuddy, you probably get some sort of high from all the 'excitement' that prevents you from sneaking into the coma ward and stabbing yourself with the morphine drip."

"It's called being in love," I point out, scrutinizing him. "That's the high that, in most cases, gets you through the exhaustion and the headaches. It's the idea that you're about to spend the rest of your life with the person you're in love with. The fact that a life together with Cuddy isn't enough to get you excited about this wedding is just another sign to me that you're not making the right decision."

He stares into the depths of his pudding cup, shaking his head. "We've spent the last four months signing contracts worth thousands of dollars for food and decorations and the venue and she's put a nonrefundable deposit on a ten grand wedding dress. It's too late to change it now," he mutters, so softly I barely hear him.

I scoff loudly enough that several heads at other tables turn in my direction, but I ignore them. "It is _not_ too late to change it now. House, if you're having second thoughts–"

"–I'm _not_ having second thoughts," he interrupts, glaring at me again. "I know exactly what I'm doing and exactly why I'm doing it. Unless those circumstances change, my mind isn't changing. I'm getting married to Lisa Cuddy in six months and telling me it's not a good idea won't change things. I know it's not a good idea. It's the lesser of two evils."

"And the greater of the two evils?" I demand, scoffing again and wondering what could possibly be worse than marrying a woman you don't really want to marry.

He looks at me stoically. "What I've been doing for the past ten years: being alone."

"House, you don't have to–" I start to say, but cut myself off. I remind myself that being with me doesn't count because we've never made that essential step from friends to lovers. I tell myself he wouldn't want to anyway.

He watches me, and I get the strange feeling he's examining me. I wonder if he could tell where my thoughts were headed. I hold his gaze, and eventually he looks down. "Yes I do," he mutters.

I don't say anything as he finishes the last of my chocolate pudding, putting the spoon into the corners of the plastic cup to get every last drop. He avoids looking at me. I take another bite of my sandwich.

Eventually he gives up on transferring the last bits of pudding from the cup to his mouth and lays the plastic spoon on the table to mark his defeat. He still doesn't look at me. "Cuddy's dragging me to register for wedding gifts this weekend," he announces softly.

I nod, and even though he's not looking at me I know he can see it in his peripheral vision.

He shrugs. "Her sister's tagging along. Want to make it less torturous for me by joining us?"

I really don't have much desire to spend the day at a department store with House and Cuddy registering for wedding gifts, but the only time I've seen House outside of work since the engagement was the weekend Cuddy went to New York to get her wedding dress. The rest of his free time, I know from his frequent complaints, is spent with Cuddy meeting with caterers and cake designers and florists and all the other normally-fun aspects of planning a wedding.

I nod again, and he imitates me. "Be over on Saturday at ten."

—

The women gab, a few steps ahead of House and me. I glance over at him. The scanner in his left hand hangs limply at his side. He shouldn't be marrying her.

We're passing through the fragrances section on our way to the elevators, and Cuddy pauses at a table. Noticing her stop, her sister Julia picks the slim black bottle up off the table and starts reading the back in a low, sexy voice. "Armani Code for Women is a seductive and alluring scent. Unlock the secret code of seduction–"

"–Cut it out," Cuddy interrupts, smirking and taking the perfume bottle from her sister's hands. She gives House a flirty smile. "What do you think?" she asks, holding up the bottle. "Should we register for it?"

House glances at me. "Correct me if I'm wrong...aren't we supposed to register for stuff for both of us?"

Cuddy shrugs. "Well...in a way...it is for both of us." She sprays a spritz on her left wrist and then rubs her wrists together before holding one out to House. "What do you think?" she asks.

I look away, wondering what I'm doing here. Couples are supposed to register for wedding gifts together, not with family and friends. Especially when the friend is in love with the groom. I pretend to be interested in an array of body lotions so I don't have to listen to them flirt, though their voices soon become stern when Cuddy wants to register for the perfume and House doesn't. After a minute, though, he 'agrees' with her, and I accidentally look back over in time to see them kiss.

House joins me, picking up a bottle of the lotion I was pretending to look at.

"Seriously?" he asks, glancing at me. "How much of a girl are you?"

I smile with a slight shrug. "So I like to keep my skin moisturized; so what?"

He shakes his head; I'm surprised to see that he's smiling slightly. "Maybe your wives left you because they were sick of doing a guy with girly skin."

"For your information," I say, following Cuddy and Julia toward the elevators, "every single woman I've dated has complimented the softness of my skin."

House falls into step beside me. He switches the scanner to his other hand, looping the elastic around his wrist and letting it dangle so his hand is free to hold his cane. I watch him reach his free hand over, taking one of mine and feeling the skin between his fingers. I stare in fascination for a moment before he lets go and looks back up at me. I try not to think about how cold my hand suddenly feels.

"Does it meet your standards?" I ask, raising my eyebrows at him.

He shrugs. "Whoever said I was into soft hands?" he asks, starting to walk again.

I push away thoughts of my hands touching various parts of his body and follow him to the elevators.

On the basement floor, House and I follow Cuddy and Julia to the kitchen section.

"Oh, wow," Cuddy says, picking up and examining an elegant pitcher. "This is beautiful. House, we should register for this."

He looks at me and rolls his eyes before joining her, and I bite back a smirk.

"Don't we have a pitcher in the fridge?" he asks, looking at it.

This time Cuddy is the one to roll her eyes. "Yeah, a plastic pitcher filled with fruit punch. But this would be so nice to serve water in if we had a fancy dinner."

House shrugs. "You can register for it if you want, but I don't know who's gonna spend $250 on a pitcher."

"It's crystal," she says stiffly, deliberately turning the box around to locate the barcode.

"Whatever," House mutters, but I think I'm the only one who can hear him.

We walk through the aisles, pausing every now and then to register for something Cuddy probably owns but House obviously has no interest in buying. He just follows his...fiancée (I still cringe internally when I think that word) around like a duckling, clearly bored out of his mind but tired of arguing with her.

He brightens when we get to the drinking glasses section and he spots a bar set, complete with several sizes of shakers, tools, different types of glasses, and an ice bucket. "What about this?" he says, looking at Cuddy.

She makes a face. "House, why do we need a bar set? I don't even drink that much."

"I could make you cocktails," he suggests, but she shakes her head.

"House, I don't like the idea of having that much alcohol in the house. I don't want us to become alcoholics. Why don't we find something else—something we both like?"

He opens his mouth, most likely to point out that none of the things she'd registered for so far have had any interest to him, but instead of speaking he just closes his mouth again. Cuddy and sister plow on and House gives the barware set one last longing look. I can't help thinking she's got him whipped.

"House," I mutter as he starts to follow Cuddy again. He turns to me. "Just get it anyway," I say, surprised he even needs me to suggest it.

He glances at Cuddy and Julia, who are engrossed with the tablecloths in the next aisle.

"I'll buy it for you," I encourage, and he quickly scans the box before Cuddy notices.

I clap him on the shoulder as I walk past, catching up with the sisters before they notice we've lingered.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Just so there's no confusion, this is a continuation of the scene from the last chapter. You can read it as though there's no chapter split.

"House, why don't we register for this for you?" Cuddy suggests once we've moved from the kitchen section to the bath section. She's holding up a very fancy, expensive shaver. I have a similar product in my own bathroom.

House makes a grouchy face. "Name one occasion for which I would use that."

Cuddy glares at him. "Well maybe if you had a nice shaver, you'd actually shave more often."

"I don't like the way I look unshaven," he argues. "I already have a trimmer for when it gets out of hand; someone buys that for us, I'll never use it."

She shakes her head, putting the box down. "I don't know why I bother. You complain that everything I register for is for me, and then when I try to pick something for you you don't even want it."

"I'm not trying to be unappreciative," he points out. "I'm just saying it would be a waste of money. I look better unshaven."

"I disagree."

"I look older when I shave."

"No you don't, House, you look groomed. Wilson, back me up," she adds, turning to me unexpectedly.

I feel myself blush slightly as House turns in my direction, also looking for support. "Uh..." I mutter, looking from one frustrated face to another. It's not that he doesn't look handsome clean-shaven, but the scruffy look is more rugged and way more him. I wonder what that would feel like, kissing him.

Internally shaking myself to return to reality, I let my eyes click to Cuddy's. "He looks better unshaven," I assert, and Cuddy all but throws her hands in the air, scowling at both of us before turning around to go find her sister.

Though he doesn't quite smile, I can tell House appreciates my support. I want to tell him it's true, but I don't. Instead we continue following the women around the department store.

In the center of the home decor department Cuddy pauses at a table where a small fountain trickles water down several leaves into a bed of rocks. "House," she says, and I see him visibly bracing himself as he steps forward to join her.

"What?"

"What do you think?" she asks, gesturing at it.

"What about it?"

"It says it's a relaxation fountain," she explains, pointing to a pile of boxes under the table. "Wouldn't that make a nice centerpiece for the living room, or maybe the bedroom?"

"They're actually trying to sell this thing?" House asks, looking at it more critically. "I thought it was just a decoration. Who in the world would buy that?"

"I was thinking we could register for it," Cuddy suggests, her voice becoming steely. "Listen to it; the fountain is designed for the sound to have a relaxing effect on the body. Wouldn't it be nice to come home every day and have that as background noise, or maybe something to fall asleep to?"

"It makes me have to pee," House disagrees, causing me to snigger.

Three heads turn to me: Cuddy with a death-glare, Julia with a disapproving scowl, and House with an appreciative smirk.

Eventually the bride turns back around and starts shifting one of the boxes, turning it around to find the barcode.

"You're seriously registering for that thing?" House asks in a disbelieving tone, and she straightens up to glare at him more intensely than she's just glared at me.

"Yes, I think it's something nice that I'd like to have in my home. And I would appreciate it if you actually took this somewhat seriously."

"I'm supposed to–" House starts to say, but a ringing cell phone interrupts him.

Both women start to check their purses, but Cuddy gets her phone out first, saying, "It's mine," to Julia, and the younger sister ceases her search.

House walks away from the relaxation fountain table, probably looking for something else that he would really like but would piss his fiancée off. Not really wanting to be around Cuddy and her bad mood, I follow him.

"What kind of people actually buy that crap?" House asks me, and I shrug. "I don't even know why we're doing this," he continues. "Both of us are over forty and have plenty of crap to fill the house with. Isn't gift registration supposed to be for twenty-somethings who can't afford their own fine china because they're blowing all their savings on their wedding?"

"I don't know," I say with a sigh. "Maybe she's just so excited to actually be getting married that she doesn't want to miss out on anything."

"Would you go through all this crap if you got married again?" he asks, looking at me. "Aren't you sick of it by now?"

I smile slightly. "Not really. It's new and exciting each time because I'm with a new person that, at the time, I consider myself in love with. But maybe if I'd married Sam again, or met someone else who'd already been divorced, I'd tone it down this time. But it was the first wedding for both Bonnie and Julie, and I didn't want them to have understated weddings just because I'd been through it before."

He shakes his head, then flinches and mutters, "Bridezilla at nine o'clock," before turning away and taking off down the aisle.

"House, stop," Cuddy says, sighing.

House slowly turns around and trudges back, and Julia joins us as well.

"That was the babysitter," Cuddy announces. "She has a family emergency and needs to leave right away."

"Oh, that's too bad," House says in a rather convincing tone of disappointment. "I guess we'll just have to do this another week."

"No," Cuddy says, drawing out the "o" and looking at her fiancé with narrowed eyes. "This the only Saturday I have free this month, and we need to go to the jewelry store after we're finished here. So I'm going to drive Julia home, she'll watch Rachel for the rest of the afternoon, and then I'll meet you guys back here to go to the jeweler's."

"So what are me and Wilson supposed to do while you're gone?" House asks.

"_You_ are going to finish registering for our wedding gifts," she informs him. "And _you_," she adds, rounding on me and handing me her scanner, "are going to help him pick out nice, tasteful things and prevent him from registering for anything inappropriate." She glances at her watch. "Meet me at the second-floor entrance to the mall in an hour. I'll call you if I'm running early or late."

I nod, and Cuddy and her sister head back to the escalators.

House watches them go, turning to me as soon as they're out of earshot. "Okay, they're gone; let's go to the food court and get ice cream."

I smile. "House, I don't think you're finished registering for stuff. How big is your guest list?"

I'm not surprised to see him shrug. "Two-hundred? Two-fifty? I don't know, the only people I'm inviting are my mom and you."

Not rolling my eyes is challenging, but I manage it. "What about your team? I'm sure they'd want to come."

"They're coming, but inviting them was Cuddy's idea, not mine. She even wants to invite Cameron and Thirteen. I told her don't bother since Cameron will probably cry at losing me forever and we don't even have Thirteen's address, but she's the one who's officially in charge."

"All right," I say, trying to sound patient. "Well, with two-hundred or so people, it's probably a good idea to register for more than ten gifts. Look, how about we go back to the kitchen section, to start with, and let me know if you see anything you like."

"Wilson, I don't actually care," he points out, looking at me. "If I think of something I want, I go online and buy it, and if it can't be shipped I have Chase pick it up for me. Until it occurs to me to want something, I have everything I need."

"You liked that bar set, though," I argue. He shrugs, and I sigh. "So you're telling me that if you walked into this store and someone handed you a $5,000 gift card, it would just sit in your wallet with the full amount until you died."

"No," he says, looking at me. "When I get bored at work I'd take it out of my wallet and pretend it's a tiny snowboard for my fingers. I'd stack up all those medical books I don't read and see if my hand could make it to the bottom without wiping out." He smirks. "I doubt it."

This time I let myself roll my eyes. I also grab his wrist and start to drag him to the kitchen section, until he grumbles that you shouldn't drag cripples and begins to walk on his own.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Sorry about the delay, I've had such a busy week I couldn't find time to write until the weekend. And just like last time, this is a continuation of the previous scene.

"Fine china," I say, gesturing at an aisle filled with plates and bowls of various styles and sizes. "And don't say you already have some because I've been to your apartment a million times and we always eat out of take-out containers or, for a fancy dinner, paper plates."

"_Cuddy_ already has fine china," he points out. "And she never uses it."

"But that's Cuddy's fine china. This will be for both of you."

"But as you've already said, I never use it," he argues. "What's the point?"

"House, just pick something," I sigh. "If a tornado blew through Cuddy's house, destroying all her dishes, and you had to choose from one of these sets to replace them, which set would you choose?"

Apparently, that works. He actually walks down the aisle a bit, looking and pondering, before pointing to a contemporary set of dishes rimmed in black.

"All right," I say, trying to sound encouraging. "So get them."

"She won't like them."

"I like them," I say, almost surprised to find out it's true. "They're actually pretty elegant. And if Cuddy doesn't like them, who cares? You say she never uses fine china anyway, so what difference does it make? You like them, and you're just as important in the marriage as she is."

Apparently convinced, he locates the barcode and scans it.

"I guess there is an advantage to her not liking the dishes," he comments as we continue down the aisle. "When we get divorced I'll get to keep them."

"Always the optimist," I mutter, and he smirks. I want to ask why he's getting married if he knows he'll just get divorced, but I hold my tongue. He'd probably turn the question back around on me, and then we'll start arguing about whether or not I knew I'd get divorced each time I got married. And I think House has had enough of arguing for one day.

I lead House back to the section where he found the bar set, hoping he might see something else he likes.

"Well I guess these are okay," he says, pointing to a set of wineglass racks that attach to the bottom of a cabinet.

"Yeah, that's actually a pretty clever idea," I agree. "Those would save a ton of cabinet space. Cuddy would appreciate that, right?"

"Maybe."

"I know I would," I say. "Now I'm kind of jealous, actually. I think those would look nice in the condo. I liked the dinner plates too."

"Well when we get divorced you can have them," he says, looking around for anything else he might like.

In the bath section he finds a shower-head with different settings that are supposed to feel like a massage, and a hose to attach to it so he can use it when taking a bath in addition to showering. He scans the box without saying anything. We both know he likes it because it would feel good on his bad leg but we don't need to bring it up.

Back in the home decor section I see some elegant glass candle holders I like, and pick up a box to look for the price.

"Think Cuddy'll like those?" House asks, joining me.

"No, I just think they'll look nice on my dining room table," I admit, setting the box back down and feeling slightly guilty for shopping for myself.

House scoffs. "As if. They don't match the ugly lamp you have in the corner."

"The green one? What's wrong with my lamp?" I ask, turning to him.

"What _isn't_ wrong with your lamp?" he retorts.

I chuckle, looking away, but I still see a hint of a smile on House's face as he registers for the candle holders. "Well, you have a whole store to choose from; why don't you pick me out a better lamp?"

He nods. "One that matches the actually-not-too-ugly candle holders."

"Exactly."

House takes off down the next aisle, scrutinizing the surprisingly wide selection of floor and table lamps. "We should have done this when we moved into the condo," he comments.

He finds a black lamp which has a base that looks kind of like tree branches and scans it.

"That is pretty neat," I admit. "I guess the one I have at home is a little old-fashioned."

"Maybe if you replace the phrase 'a little' with the word 'immensely,'" he suggests.

"Mm-hmm. Well while we're in this section why don't we find matching table lamps for the bedroom? You know, one for each side of the bed."

House shakes his head as he continues down the aisle. "'Matching table lamps.' I never understood that. Wouldn't it make more sense to have a different lamp on each side? One that reflects the one person's personality and one that reflects the other's?"

"I never thought about it that way," I admit. "But it's actually not a bad idea. All right, so let's find two _different_ table lamps and register for them."

"Okay," House agrees, and we set off.

Most lamps House dismisses as too boring, too ugly, or too girly, but eventually he finds a modern metal lamp with a black square lampshade and a cutout in the center for the light pull.

"Chic," I approve, and he scans it.

"Now you pick one," he orders, and we start walking again. "Just one that doesn't suck."

"I'll do my best to please you, O Master of the House," I promise.

"Double entendre," he smirks. "Nice."

I find a lamp with a hand-blown glass base and a cylindrical lampshade and gesture to it, raising my eyebrows at my best friend. "Does it suck?"

"I guess not," he admits. I locate the barcode and scan the lamp. "All right," he says, "so this one will be for your side and the black one will be for my..."

He falls silent, staring at the ground as he realizes his mistake. Or his, dare I let myself believe, freudian slip. I open my mouth to say his name but close it before the words come out. I don't know what to say.

It should be me, I know it should be me and not her. He was never supposed to end up with her. He belongs with me—why doesn't he realize that? Or does he? Is he maybe...like I was for most of my life...just afraid to admit it?

Or am I wrong? Are my feelings one-sided? Is he really in love with his fiancée, and having doubts about their future just because his only other serious relationship fell through?

He looks up at me, maybe waiting for me to say or do something. I want to kiss him.

**I want to kiss him. He's looking at me, waiting for me to maybe say something else or laugh off my error or maybe just keep walking, but I can't move. I don't know what to say. He has no idea how much I really want it to be him.**

**I look down again. It should be him. This stupid trip has been hellish torture until Cuddy left, then I actually started to have fun. Would it be like this for the rest of the stupid wedding planning stuff? If it were Wilson would I actually enjoy picking out dinner menus and flowers and music? Was he right when he said it's fun because you're doing it with the person you're in love with, the person you're excited to spend the rest of your life with?**

**It doesn't even matter. It's **_**not**_** Wilson, it's Cuddy. **_**Cuddy**_** is the one I'm trying to spend the majority of the rest of my life with. I'm registering for gifts for me and her, not me and Wilson.**

"**You probably have similar tastes," I mutter, still looking at the ground. "She'll probably like it."**

"**Yeah," he says, probably trying to sound encouraging. "I hope so."**

"**Let's keep going," I suggest quietly, heading toward the main aisle to find another section.**

"**House," he says, catching up with me. He puts his hand on my arm, looks at me, and smiles. I still want to kiss him. "It's okay," he says. "We were having a good time before. Nothing's changed."**

**I nod. I want to smile back, but it doesn't really work. We keep going. He tries to be enthusiastic, pointing out stuff he thinks I might like. I try to forget that he's not the one I'm marrying. I'd been having more fun that way.**


	8. Chapter 8

**By the time we get to the bedding department I've managed to loosen up a little. Even though I'm not marrying him, Wilson is still better company than Cuddy, and I'm still having a better time now than when she was here, picking things I didn't like and dumping on everything I did.**

"**New sheets?" Wilson suggests, pointing down the aisle.**

"**Okay," I agree, following him. The ones Cuddy has now have some kind of grandma pattern on them that looks like a flower threw up. I find a blue set of sheets that are kind of boring, but they're sheets so who cares, and look through the packages to find a king-size set.**

"**No, don't get those ones," Wilson says. "If you're getting new sheets, you might as well find a set with a higher thread count."**

"**Seriously?" I ask, rolling my eyes and putting the package down. "Does that really make the sex better?"**

**I smirk when Wilson stammers a little. "I don't know about the **_**sex**_**," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. "But they're supposed to be softer, more comfortable."**

"**So what's a good thread count then?" I ask, scanning the various packages. "600? 700?"**

"**These ones are 800," Wilson calls from down the aisle, and I join him to check them out.**

**As I'm trying to find a set of 800 threads per inch sheets in a color other than pink or puke green, a chubby sales associate walks over.**

"**Can I help you gentleman find something?" she asks in a voice so cheerful I doubt she's been working here long.**

**Wilson smiles at her. "Yes, is this the highest thread count you have?"**

**She looks at the package. "Actually, I think we have a few sets of sheets that are a thousand threads per square inch. They're a bit pricier, but–"**

"–**it doesn't matter, we won't be buying them," I interrupt, holding up my scanner. "One of my fiancée's two-hundred friends will be the one footing the bill."**

"**Oh," the associate says, still smiling. "All right, well in that case, the 1,000 thread count sheets are right over here." She leads us down another aisle and points to a few packages of sheets boasting their high thread counts in large fonts on the front.**

"**Which one do you want?" Wilson asks. "The striped one or the plain one?"**

"**I don't care," I say, thinking that should already have been obvious.**

"**Well do you want white or ivory?" he asks, glancing between the two brands. "The striped one adds some texture, but their ivory color seems like more of a champagne than–"**

"–**Wilson, just pick some sheets," I interrupt, rolling my eyes. "The majority of the time I spend using them will be with my eyes closed. I do not give a crap whether they're white, ivory, or **_**champagne**_**."**

**The sales associate giggles, and Wilson rolls his eyes and scans one of the packages.**

"**So may I ask when the big day is?" the associate asks, smiling still.**

"**November 27," I murmur indifferently. That had been Cuddy's idea of a compromise.**

"**Ooh, that's so exciting," she says happily. "I bet you must be just thrilled."**

"**Tickled pink," I mutter.**

**The sales associate frowns slightly and, apparently deciding she'll get a more enthusiastic response from Wilson, turns to him. "So have you looked at wedding bands yet? A good friend of mine works at the Zales by the food court and–"**

"–**Oh, no," Wilson interrupts, blushing slightly. **

**I smirk to myself as he begins his stammer.**

"**I'm not his...we're not...he's not my...I...I'm just the best man," he says eventually.**

"**Oh," the associate says in surprise, turning as red as the sheets behind her. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I just...I assumed...from the way you were intera—not that I'm trying to imply...I mean...well you both have the registry scanners and you're–"**

"–**You're not the first person to make that mistake," I interrupt her babbling, glancing at Wilson. **

**The woman just nods embarrassedly and walks away. As much as her mortification amuses me, the situation doesn't. Even brainless department store sales associates think Wilson and I should be a couple. Why the hell aren't we?**

"**We should get back upstairs," Wilson mutters softly. "Cuddy should be back soon to meet us."**

**She's my fiancée. She's the woman I'm going to marry, the woman I'm going to try and spend the rest of my life with. I love her. I **_**want**_** to be with her. So why does the idea of spending the rest of the afternoon with her make me feel cold inside?**

See, House? I can't help thinking indignantly as we head upstairs. That woman knew us all of five minutes and she thought we were together, and as you said, she wasn't the only person to make that mistake. You know we act differently around each other than normal friends do. We are more than just friends and we always have been. So how come you're marrying someone else?

All right, maybe the same question could have been directed at me multiple times, but that was before. Back when I was too afraid to admit how I felt. And now that I have admitted it, at least to myself, it's too late. After all these years he's finally with Cuddy, something I never thought would actually happen. I missed out.

We pass through the intimates department on the way to customer service to return the scanners and House, almost as though hoping I won't notice, quickly scans a bra and corset set with a matching garter thong. The whole thing is made of pretty much see-through pink and black lace. I stare at the mannequin wearing it and, before I can stop them, images flash through my mind of Cuddy wearing it instead. House is on top of her, kissing her and touching her.

"What's wrong with you?" House asks, looking at me curiously.

Blushing, I shake my head. "Nothing. I'm fine." I'm not fine. I'm jealous. House is going to get married to Cuddy and have sex with her. He already has sex with her. They lie in bed together, touching each other. Tender caresses and soft whispers in the nighttime when no one else can hear. It's more than just sex. He does those things with her because he loves her. Her and not me. He's getting married to her because he loves her. Her and not me. Why is it only just now hitting me?

"You're not gonna tell her, are you?" House demands. "Because this is the _definition_ of something for both of us."

"House, I'm not telling your fiancée about your stupid lingerie set, okay?" The words come out harsher than I intended. He looks taken aback. I glare at the ground.

"What is with you?" he asks.

"Nothing," I say again. "Come on," I mutter eventually. "Let's go bring these things back to customer service before your bride gets here."

Cuddy is already waiting for us when we get to the second floor entrance where the department store meets the rest of the mall. I look away while she and House exchange a hurried kiss.

"Did you find some nice things?" she asks me as we head out toward the jewelry store.

"I think we did," I say softly. "And...this way you'll be surprised on your wedding day."

"Well, hopefully not too surprised," she comments as we pass through the crowds. "You didn't let him register for anything...I don't know, just for him or anything, right?"

"I am right here, you know," House points out. "And no, Cuddy, I got stuff we should _both_ use."

"Good," she smiles. "Now let's go to the jeweler's and we'll find two more things we'll both get to enjoy."

She's glowing, the way she's looking at him. I've seen that look in women's eyes a million times, plenty of which were directed at me. She's so happy. She loves him so much. I really should be happy for them, I know I should. I know he loves her back. And she's my friend. I _want_ her to be happy. Just...not with my House.


	9. Chapter 9

When we get to the jewelry store an older woman with some sort of eastern European accent greets us.

"Good afternoon, how can I help you today?"

Cuddy beams. "My fiancé and I are here to choose our wedding rings."

"Congratulations," the saleslady smiles. "Let me show you our selection of wedding bands."

I hang back a bit while they cross to the other side of the store. I don't even know why I'm here. Maybe if Cuddy's sister hadn't left it wouldn't be so bad, but I feel like the third wheel right now. This is something couples are supposed to do by themselves.

Wandering over to men's fashion rings, I pretend to look for something for myself even though I'm not interested. After a salesman tries to sell me a ring with a gigantic piece of onyx in it I give up and instead go see if the couple are making any progress.

"Wilson," Cuddy says, spotting me and waving me over. "Good, I'm glad you're here, I could use another set of eyes. My fiancé is being deliberately unhelpful."

I glance at House, who rolls his eyes at me, and approach the counter.

There are two yellow gold bands resting on a bed of velvet. One has a row of diamonds all across the top and the other has five diamonds each set separately across the top.

"I like the simplicity of this one," she explains, pointing to the first ring, "but this one is so pretty with the gold between all the diamonds. I just don't know which one I like better."

I look at House again. He shrugs at me.

Without meaning to I think back to the times I was in this position myself, with my fiancées. I'd been so excited to pick out our wedding bands, to help choose the one thing that we would wear for the rest of our lives, that was supposed to symbolize our love and commitment to each other. With Sam I hadn't been able to afford diamonds in the wedding ring yet so we'd gone for something simple, but we were so young and 'in love' that it didn't matter. Bonnie had had no idea what she wanted, but she was just excited to get married. Julie, on the other hand, knew exactly what she wanted. She was definitely a diamond girl and probably would have liked either of these rings. The one we ended up getting for her was similar to the first of these, but with diamonds going all the way around instead of just on the top.

But this doesn't matter to me. I'm not going to be looking at this ring on my wife's hand every day. I'm not going to place it on her finger during a ceremony we're going to look back on with joy for the rest of our lives.

It doesn't make any difference to me what stupid wedding ring Cuddy chooses. She shouldn't be marrying House anyway!

"I...I don't know," I say eventually. The words are coming out cold for some reason. "They're both pretty, Lisa."

"I know," she admits with a sigh. "Come on, House," she says, turning to him. She puts one of the rings on her finger and holds it up to him. "What do you think? Do you like it?"

"Sure, Lise," House shrugs.

"More than this one?" she asks, slipping it off again and putting on the other.

While Cuddy's looking down at her fingers, he catches my eye and winks at me.

"Definitely," House says. "You should get the other one."

"You sure?"

"Do you like this one more than the other one?" I ask, stepping closer.

"I don't know," she murmurs softly. "I really do like them both."

"Then I agree with House," I say, smiling at him. "Get the other one."

She takes off the plainer ring and tries the other one on again, holding it up once more for all to see.

"You really like this one better?" she asks him, and he nods, smiling in a way that would fool most people, even Cuddy, but that I can tell is just his hiding a smirk.

Cuddy chats with the saleslady about carats and sizing and I walk over to House.

"You know she'll blame you if she changes her mind," I mutter so that only he can hear me, but he shrugs.

"Well, pretending that I actually had an opinion sped things up. If you ever get married again you could try it."

"I never needed to," I admit. "Because I actually cared. And if I did...get married again, then I'll probably actually care this time around too."

As I'm saying it, I realize that not only is it not true, it's a moot point because it will never happen. I spent years of my life denying who I really was and convincing myself I was in love with those women. It did get to the point where I was excited about marrying them and spending the rest of my life with them because it made me normal. It was supposed to be what every man wanted, it was supposed to make me happy.

I always told myself I was just one step away, and if I took the step I'd be happy. Once I find a girlfriend everything will be okay and my life will be good. Once she starts sleeping with me I'll be happier and life will be good. Once we move in together we'll be happy. Once we get married we'll be happy. Once we buy a house together we'll be happy.

And even when all that happens I'm still not.

I married the wrong woman, so if I find someone else I'll be happy. I know I shouldn't have an affair but I just can't bring myself to ask for a divorce. She'll find out. Once she finds out, we'll get divorced and then I'll be happy.

It's a cycle of misery and depression and it took me years to break free. And I know it won't happen again because I know it doesn't make me happy. Because I know the only person I've ever really been in love with is House, and it's been that way for so long I don't see how it will change now.

I know he's getting married to someone else. I was quiet for too long and now it's too late, so all I can do is try and help him be happy. If marrying Cuddy is what he wants then...as much as don't support it I have to go along with it. Because I'm his best friend and that's what best friends do.

**I wonder what he's thinking about now. This is like the millionth time today he's just started staring off into space for no reason. I don't get it.**

"**All right," Cuddy interrupts, approaching us. "Well we got my ring all settled, now let's go pick out one for you."**

**Great. She takes my hand and drags me over to the counter with the men's rings. Wilson follows us.**

**I stare at all the rings in the case. Yellow gold, white gold, platinum, black tungsten, two-tone, some with diamonds set in them, some not. I look over at Cuddy.**

"**Well?" she asks. "Do you like any of them?"**

**Not really. The idea of wearing a wedding ring has never actually appealed to me. "Why don't you pick one out?" I suggest. "You'll have to look at too; I don't want to pick one you don't like."**

**She looks down at the rings. "House, this one will be yours. The only preference I have is that have yellow gold so it will match mine."**

"**That's a good starting place," the saleslady encourages us. "Do you want it entirely yellow gold or two-tone? Have you thought about diamonds?"**

**Cuddy looks at me. Then she looks at the saleslady. "I don't really think my fiancé is a diamonds kinda guy. Maybe something a bit simpler?"**

**Well, at least she doesn't completely not know me.**

"**Sure," the saleslady says, and picks out a few diamond-less rings, putting them on velvet on top of the counter to show me. Three are all yellow gold: one plain, two with various designs engraved on them; another is yellow gold with a white gold design going around the center and the last one is yellow gold with a dark platinum band around the center.**

**For some reason, I can't picture any of them on my left ring finger for the rest of my life.**

**But I have to choose one, I remind myself. And they're not all ugly or gaudy or boring or feminine or anything. They're not so bad. Just...**

"**Which one do you like?" Cuddy asks.**

**Just pick one. Just pick one, just like you just picked one for Cuddy, then we can go home.**

**I point to one of the rings.**

"**This one is very nice," the lady encourages, picking whichever ring I pointed to up and handing it to me to try on. I don't. "It's 14-carat gold with a handsome brush finish and high-polish edges. The brush adds some texture without detracting from the simple elegance of the ring. A very good choice, sir."**

"**House, you just picked a ring at random without even looking at them," Cuddy accuses, crossing her arms over her chest.**

**I sigh. "Cuddy, they're all fine. I don't–"**

"–**Don't stand there and tell me you don't care," she says, glaring at me. "House, these are our wedding rings. These are the bands that we are going to wear for the rest of our lives to symbolize our love and commitment to each other. I don't want you to just randomly pick one. I want you to look at them, actually think about it, and select one you like!"**

"**All right, fine," I say, trying hard to keep from sighing this time. I take a closer look at the rings. I still don't give a crap which one I'm going to wear. Nor do I see what difference it makes which one I choose or for which reason I choose it. "Wilson," I mutter, staring at the stupid rings, and my best man walks over to join me.**

"**What?" he asks softly.**

**I look at him. "Which one should I get?"**

"**Whichever one you like, House," he sighs.**

"**It doesn't matter," I murmur under my breath. "Which one do you like, Wilson? You're the one who's good at this stuff."**

"**It's your wedding," he points out. "It doesn't matter which one I like; you need to pick one that **_**you**_** like. If none of these rings appeals to you, tell the lady and she'll pick a few more for you to choose from."**

"**Wilson, I don't think it makes a difference which selection of rings she picks for me to choose from," I explain. "It's just a stupid ring. You hang out with me, you'll have to look at it sometimes. You pick one."**

"**Fine," he says, rolling his eyes. "I like the one with the white gold around the center."**

"**There. Was that so hard?"**

**Wilson shakes his head in exasperation. I wave Cuddy back over.**

"**Okay, I thought about it and decided," I inform her. "I like the two-tone gold one."**

**Cuddy leans down and inspects the ring before looking suspiciously back up at me. "Two-tone? Really?"**

"**What, now you don't like it?" I ask. "Fine, if you don't want a two-tone then I'll get one with just yellow gold. Whatever."**

"**No, it's not that I don't want a two-tone," she says, crossing her arms. "I want one that **_**you**_** pick out, not one that Wilson picks out. When he's the one getting married he can choose his ring, but this is for **_**you**_**. It's supposed to be a reflection of **_**you**_**."**

"**That's what I told him," Wilson says to Cuddy. Traitor.**

**I sigh. "Cuddy, you know I'm not good at this kind of stuff. I don't wear rings. It doesn't matter to me which one we get. I don't have a taste when it comes to jewelry, all right?"**

"**Of course you do!" she says, brandishing her left hand in front of us. "My engagement ring is absolutely beautiful. **_**Wilson**_** didn't pick this out, did he?"**

**I see Wilson's face panic over Cuddy's shoulder as he shakes his head furiously, but I've spoken before my brain registers the message. "Yes he did," I contradict matter-of-factly. "This is the ring he tried to propose to Sam with."**

**Wilson moans and does a face-palm while Cuddy's expression changes rapidly from confusion to shock to understanding to anger to shocked despair. "You..." she says softly, staring at me. "...you gave me Wilson's hand-me-down ring that Sam turned down? You..." Tears begin to form in her eyes as she stares down at her finger. "...instead of buying me a ring you just gave me a used one? You just gave me someone else's ring? House..." She looks up at me again as she says my name, shaking her head. The tears start to flow down her cheeks. "...how could you...?"**

**Then before I can stop her she turns on her heel and leaves the store, struggling not to cry. A few other customers watch her go. I just stare in shocked silence.**


	10. Chapter 10

I don't want to make a scene in front of everyone in the jewelry store, so I take my best friend by the wrist and literally drag him out of the place and into a mostly abandoned hallway with some drinking fountains and vending machines. I wait for a woman exiting the restroom to pass by before rounding on House.

"What in God's name were you thinking!" I demand, hands on my hips.

"What?" he asks, sounding like a child who cut himself an extra-large piece of cake daring his mother to reprimand him.

I just shake my head. "How can someone so smart be so idiotic? House, why in the world would you tell her that I'm the one who picked out her engagement ring?"

"Because it's the truth."

We spend a second just staring at each other.

"I know it's the truth," I say finally. "I know it and you know it. But she didn't have to. Don't you have any idea how happy it made her, thinking you had gone out and bought her the ring?"

"But I didn't," he points out. "Her happiness was based on a lie."

"But everyone lies," I turn House's famous line back around on him. "And you're the one who told me that the most successful marriages are based on lies. Don't you want this marriage to be successful? Based on your logic, you should have just agreed with her. Do you really think I wouldn't have gone along with it?"

He doesn't say anything, he just stares at the floor. I continue. "House, I gave you that ring so you could use it to make your fiancée happy. What was the point of taking it if you were just gonna tell her it came from me?"

"I'm not lying to her again," he says, looking me in the eye this time. "Last time she found out I lied to her she practically broke up with me over it. And she probably would have found out about the ring eventually. Besides, she's overreacting anyway. She wanted a ring and she got a ring. What difference does it make whether I bought it or not? It's not like I stole it or anything."

I spend a second staring at him. For once I don't get lost in his eyes or caught up in fantasies that will never come true. I'm looking at him, just trying to understand what's going through his head, trying to comprehend the fact that he really doesn't get exactly what made Cuddy so upset. "You seriously don't understand?" I ask, looking at him.

He rolls his eyes. "Of course I get that she wanted a ring from me, but she didn't need to get upset over it. People reuse engagement rings all the time. The one my dad got my mom was passed down from his great-grandmother."

"House, there's a difference between a ring being passed down through family and getting a ring that your friend couldn't use because his girlfriend said no. And besides, it wasn't the ring that made her happy. She couldn't care less about a stupid ring. She's got plenty of money—if a ring was all she wanted she could go and buy one herself. It's..." I think hard, trying to explain exactly. "It's not the ring itself, but what it's supposed to mean. It's supposed to symbolize your promise to marry her–"

"–It still does," he interrupts, eyes scanning mine. "Just because I got the ring from you doesn't mean I don't want to marry her."

"It's the effort," I say finally, hoping this will explain it. "She thought that it occurred to you that she might like an engagement ring and then you made the effort to go to a jewelry store and pick out a ring to give to her. Instead she finds out all you did was go to my office and get a ring that I only gave to you because Sam rejected it. And when someone passes a ring down to their children it's probably a ring from a long and happy marriage, not something that a potential bride turned down. I know Cuddy's not superstitious or anything but seriously, House, who wants a ring that someone else said no to?"

He's still watching me. I'm breathing faster from the effort of my argument and I stare right back at him, waiting.

"Then why did you even offer it to me?" he asks finally.

He said the words without breaking eye contact, but I look down at the ground.

I don't know.

I know I was sick of knowing it was sitting in the back of my desk, almost haunting me with the memory of Sam, but there were a thousand other ways I could have gotten rid of it. I could have sold it and donated the money to the American Cancer Society. Or a bazillion other things.

Why did I give it to House?

Because I love him? Because in some messed-up way his acceptance of my ring is a way of saying he loves me too? I offered him an engagement ring and he accepted it, but we didn't get engaged. I gave him the ring to use for _his_ engagement. My giving him the ring didn't symbolize anything between me and him.

Or did it have nothing to do with him? Was it my need-to-be-needed, as House describes it? Something inside me begging to contribute in some way, hopefully some big important way? To help my best friend, the man I love, to help make this exhausting process go smoother for him?

"Have you suddenly gone deaf and dumb?" House asks. "Wilson, you're not answering me."

"I wanted to make you both happy," I say defiantly. "I thought getting a ring would make her happy and I figured if she was happy it would make you happy. I never thought you'd be moronic enough to tell her."

"Happy," he mutters, looking away. "I'm sure she's thrilled now."

I shake my head. "House, you'd better go after her. If you still want to marry her–"

For some reason he chooses that second to catch my eye again and I lose track of what I'm saying before remembering and repeating myself. "If you still want to marry her..." I pause for half a second to give him a chance to deny it, which he doesn't, "...you need to go find her now, apologize not only profusely, but sincerely, tell her you were an idiot and grovel. If you don't, House, I think this could be the end of your engagement."

And as I say it I can't help but find myself hoping desperately for it. I look away, ashamed of myself. What kind of best friend _hopes_ that his best friend's fiancée will dump him? I'm a terrible person.

In my peripheral vision, I see House nod, and then he takes his cane and turns away. I pull out my phone and start to look up the bus schedule, then change my mind and find the number of a cab company.

—

_I sniff and blow my nose again. The rock on my left-hand ring finger seems even bigger than usual and I can't look away from it. It's like it's haunting me, mocking me. Part of me wants desperately to throw it out of the car window to be lost forever in the depths of the parking garage, but I can't bring myself to do it. Tossing away the engagement ring signals the end of the engagement and as much as he screwed up, as much as he hurt me, I don't want it to be over._

_I don't want it to be over. I have waited for him my whole life. I've wanted him to be the one since a time I was barely legal._

_I just _wish_ he would show me the same devotion that I show to him! A secondhand ring that the first potential bride said no to? What was he thinking? And Wilson! I thought Wilson was my friend, why would he be part of something that he knew would hurt me so?_

_Tears begin to flow afresh from my eyes and I don't bother stopping them. I just can't stop wondering why. Why is my fiancé so selfish? Why am I _so_ in love with a man who doesn't even care enough to go out and buy me my own ring? And if he treats me this way then why can't I get over him? Why can't I just fall out of love with him and in love with someone who actually cares about my needs and my feelings?_

_I shake my head. It's just so frustrating._

_I hear a tapping on the driver's-side window and look up to see House and his cane. I don't even know if I'm happy to see him or not. But either way, I reach across the center console and unlock the car door. He gets in. I don't look at him. I stare at the glove box in front of me, waiting for him to speak._

"_I'm sorry I hurt you," he mutters finally. "I wasn't thinking. It didn't even occur to me to get you a ring, and when Wilson offered I thought it would make you happy. I wanted you to be happy. And you were."_

"_Because I _thought_ the ring was from you," I say, irritated that my voice is still wavering. I don't want him to see me cry. _

"_It was from me," he says. He takes my hand and slides his fingers through mine. I let him, but I still haven't looked at him. "It meant the same thing to me that it would have if I'd gone out and bought it myself. I should have realized that it wouldn't mean the same thing to you either way, but I didn't. I'm sorry."_

_I want to forgive him, I do. If I don't forgive him it means the end of us and I don't want that. But what if I forgive him and he just goes out and does the same kind of thing again and again? How do I know if he's really sorry? How do I know if he's sorry enough to change?_

_I don't say anything. I don't know what to say. I don't know what I want. We sit in silence for a few more minutes._

_House sighs. "Look," he says finally, and I turn to him for the first time since he got in the car. At least my tears have dried._

_He holds my gaze for just a second before looking down at his cane and tapping it on the floor. "All right, it was selfish," he continues. "Maybe it wasn't just you I was thinking of. Wilson..." He pauses for a moment and shakes his head. "...Wilson had been keeping that thing in his desk. It had been almost two months since Sam turned him down and he still hadn't hocked it or tossed it. I don't know why he kept it; that's Wilson for you, but he obviously wanted to get rid of it or he wouldn't have offered it to me. I figured by taking it I was doing him a favor as well as doing something for you. But I shouldn't have. It was wrong. The ring should have been all about you and nothing to do with Wilson. If you want I...I can go out and buy you a new one. Just for you."_

_He ends his speech, staring at his lap. I do want a new engagement ring but I don't want to tell him that. I want him to just know and to go get me one without me having to tell him, but I know he won't. I'd rather keep this one than have him buy me one just because I asked him to. It's the thought that counts, and whether it's this ring or another ring he buys me, the thought is what's missing._

_As for his little story about helping Wilson out, I don't really believe it. His first apology didn't get a reaction so he just made up another big mistake so he could apologize for that too and maybe this time I would accept the apology._

_But what choice do I have? Break off the engagement? After we already have so much planned? I don't want that. I want him to grow up, but I don't want to lose him._

_I'm compromising. Settling. Something I told myself I'd never do. I don't understand how I'm settling when House is all I've ever wanted and all I'm in love with, but I feel that way._

_I don't have a choice. I have to give in. I want to be with him, and for that to happen I need to accept the fact that he's never going to think of me enough to go out and buy me my own engagement ring. I hope he knows how lucky he is._

"_All right," I say. "House, I forgive you for this...unthoughtfulness. I'm not going to ask you to buy me a new ring. Let's just...put all this behind us and go home."_

_He nods. I pull my seatbelt on. We drive home in silence._


	11. Chapter 11

**It's been months, but whenever I see the ring on Cuddy's hand I marvel at the fact that we made it through that one. During that long walk from the mall hallway to the parking garage all I could think about was how sure I was that this was it and that it was over.**

**And as much as I try to deny it, I lie awake at night with her pressing against me and know, in those moments when I was almost sure she'd break off the engagement, part of me was relieved.**

**It doesn't even make sense that I would feel that way. Sure, I'm in love with Wilson and sure, when he was asking me whether I still wanted to marry her all I could think about was how much I wanted it to be him instead. But since it can't be him it has to be her. It has to. I need her in my life, I need to marry her because I'm over being alone and unless Wilson wakes up one day and walks into my office declaring undying love for me, she's the only way to keep from being alone.**

**Just three more months and this will all be over. We'll be married, it'll be done, we'll be able to spend our weekends watching TV and having sex instead of planning things and fighting.**

**I try not to fight. Really. I hate the fighting. I don't want it. When we went back to another jewelry store a few weeks after that first disaster I managed to feign interest in a very simple two-tone gold band. It didn't really stand out to me any more than any of the others at either jeweler's had, but the fact that it was two-tone made me think of Wilson's preference on that messed-up day.**

**Cuddy chose the design for our wedding invitations, another thing I couldn't care less about, but since she wanted my input I pretended to care about a style I could tell she really liked. I've been learning to do that lately. It's the easiest, smoothest, most stress-free way. Figure out what she likes and pretend to like it too whether I hate it or am indifferent to it.**

**Just three more months of this. I'm counting down the days. I know Cuddy is too, but probably for a different reason.**

**It's Friday, and Cuddy's on her computer. When I sit down next to her I see she's checking her online checklist again, probably planning next weekend's torture session. Fortunately tomorrow she's meeting with a hair stylist and taking Julia instead of me, so all I have to do is babysit. I'm thinking of inviting Wilson over. I miss him.**

"**So," I say, knowing she likes it when I pretend I'm interested in wedding plans, "what does your list say we should do this month?"**

"**Hmm..." she murmurs, scrolling down the page. "...meeting with rabbi, that's already scheduled...mailing invitations, I'm dropping them off before my appointment tomorrow...hair stylist, which I'm taking care of tomorrow...filing paperwork to change my name...but we don't want to do that, do we?"**

**I feel a storm coming as she looks up at me for my answer. "Nah," I say, trying to keep my tone nonchalant. "You're Dr. Lisa Cuddy, everyone knows you as Dr. Cuddy. You don't need to take my name."**

"**I know I don't need to take your name," she says, scrutinizing me. "We're getting married and I love you, but I don't need to define myself by you. And since you're not adopting Rachel we're not changing her name, so it's easier for her sake if I keep the same name as her..."**

**I hear a 'but' in her voice but I ignore it. "Great," I say. "So we're in agreement. You will remain Dr. Lisa Cuddy and I will remain Dr. Gregory House. It's what we both want and it's that much less paperwork to fill out."**

"**But House..." she says, still watching me, and I groan internally. "...don't you want me to take your name?"**

**Why does she have to ask these loaded questions? Seriously, 'does this dress make me look fat?' would be preferable to this. How the hell am I supposed to answer?**

"**I know that you don't want to take my name," I evade. "You're an independent woman and, like you said, you don't need me to define you. You don't want or need to become Dr. Lisa House. It doesn't sound good anyway."**

"**I thought we'd have to argue about this," she says, watching me. "I thought you'd **_**want**_** me to take your name as part of becoming your wife. Why don't you want me to?"**

**I don't know, I just don't. Maybe because I still think we'll get divorced one day. Maybe...I don't know. "What difference does it make?" I ask her. "We both want the same thing. So let's just agree to agree and move on with our lives."**

"**But I don't understand," she says, shaking her head. "House, you're avoiding my question. Is there some reason you don't want me to take your name?"**

"**No," I lie, squeezing my cane tightly with both hands. "Lisa, if you wanted to take my name I'd say go for it. But you don't. It works out better this way for both of us. And you don't have to pay someone to get that name on your door changed."**

**To my relief, she smiles. "All right," she says. "Well...I guess I'm glad I'm not hurting your feelings by saying I want to keep my name. It does...work out...I guess...that we want the same thing. I'm..." she closes her laptop and gets up from the couch. "...I'm going to give Rachel her bath now. Be back in a little while."**

**She doesn't kiss me when she walks away. She's still not completely satisfied. Now that she's gone, I shake my head in wonder. I decide we're the only couple in the world that would have an argument even when we're actually in agreement about something.**

—

The phone rings. I haven't heard that ringtone in ages. I'd almost forgotten that was my ringtone for him.

"Hello?"

"Cuddy's gone. Come over."

That's all. No prelude. I've only spoken to him twice this week, but he's telling instead of asking. Presumptuous. I don't mind.

"Okay."

"See you in twenty."

Dial tone.

I put my half-eaten cereal bowl in the sink and grab my keys.

I don't even mind that he only invited me over to help him babysit Rachel; I'm just happy to see him. I wish we were the kind of friends that hugged. Or kissed. Or planted the toddler in front of the television and scurried off to the bedroom for some steamy one-on-one time while the (almost) Mrs. is out.

We don't make physical contact when I enter, but his eyes do scan me and I imagine he's checking me out even though I know that's preposterous. I remember the conversation we had about the lamps in the department store and wonder if it really is as preposterous as I need to tell myself it is.

Rachel is eating breakfast so we sit on the sofa and chatter and gossip until she finishes and wriggles out of her booster seat. She squeezes herself between us and looks up at House.

"Park," she says. Reminding me of House, for a second. She's not asking him to go to the park, she's telling him we're going to the park.

"Not now," House shoots her down. "Maybe when Cuddy comes home she'll take you."

"Please?"

House ignores her giant pleading brown eyes. "No."

So the toddler turns to me. "Park? Please?"

How, exactly, did he resist the giant pleading brown eyes?

"Come on, House," I say. "Let's take her to the park. We could both use a walk."

House glares at me, but he grabs his cane from where it's propped against the side of the sofa and uses it to push himself up.

Delighted, Rachel runs off to find some toys to take with her.

I smile and follow House.

**This is so stupid, I tell myself over and over again as we walk down the sidewalk. Rachel is pointing things out to Wilson like the neighbor's dog and the tree that needs to be tied to a pole so it can grow. She's holding his hand. I'm not jealous. He's amused by her. He's not as used to her as I am.**

**I wonder if anyone will mistake us for a couple again. Knowing smiles. Oh, she's so cute! When did you guys adopt her? Mommy, why does she have two daddies?**

**No. Not two daddies. Just a mommy's boyfriend and his just-best-friend.**

**For the first fifteen minutes or so Wilson plays with Rachel, pushing her on the swing and sitting on the other end of the seesaw. Then he realizes she's just an annoying little ball of energy he can't keep up with, so he sits down on the bench next to me.**

"**Done being an over-enthusiastic teenage babysitter and ready to be a mommy?" I inquire.**

**He smiles. He's a guy—how does he have a prettier smile than Cuddy? Not just more attractive, prettier. I shake my head.**

"**She's cute," Wilson says.**

"**Thanks for the tip."**

**Even though he's done playing with her, his eyes still follow her as she moves from the slide to play on the plastic elephant stuck by a spring into the ground. I watch her too, for a second. The animals on springs are to the right of the bench. Wilson is sitting on the right side of the bench. My eyes click to his profile instead. I can look. I have the pretense of watching Rachel.**

He's staring at me. I don't want to look back at him because he'll just look away. But he's staring at me. I can feel his gaze. I'll never understand him.

I do look back, catch his eye. Resist the urge to ask what. Resist the urge to kiss him. He's just inches away.

Rachel chooses that moment to run up to us.

"House, push me on the merry-go-round."

"No. Make Wilson do it."

I sigh, get back up and take her hand. House is staring at me again.


	12. Chapter 12

**I've been here long enough that I've stopped noticing each time the creaky door opens to admit someone new into the bar. I'm on a stool facing away from the door so I don't see when people enter or exit. There's old music coming from the speakers as well as the chatter of voices in the booths or people calling out orders, so I really don't know why this set of footsteps stood out instead of blending in like the others.**

**I hear him walk up from behind, and even though I'm not looking at him, out of the corner of my eye I see him sit down next to me. He doesn't look at me either; he just orders a Miller Lite. I swirl the contents of my glass and watch them move around, not drinking. Just waiting.**

**The bartender sets Wilson's bottle down in front of him and he takes a sip. I wait for him to swallow and set the bottle back down before I speak.**

"**How do you do that?"**

"**What?" I hear the squeak of his stool as he turns to me.**

**I look at him. "Do you barhop all night or did you bribe my dentist to install a GPS chip in one of my molars?"**

**He smiles. That smile. "I know you, House," he says gently.**

**I scoff. "That line won't work on me; I'm spoken for."**

"**I'm not trying to pick you up," he says, rolling his eyes. "All right, I wasn't even sure you'd be here—I'm here for the same reason you are."**

"**Karaoke?"**

**He raises his drink and takes another sip.**

**I roll my eyes. "If you were here to get wasted you wouldn't have ordered a beer."**

"**Maybe I'm just warming up."**

"**If you really wanted to get drunk, you would have gone straight for the hard liquor," I contradict.**

"**Like you did?"**

**I just look away.**

"**All right," he sighs. "You're right. I was hoping you'd be here and I wanted to see you."**

"**Mm-hm." I take another drink.**

"**How much have you had?"**

"**This is my first. I was a little delayed getting out."**

"**So why are you here?" he asks, looking at me again. "You and Cuddy get into another fight?"**

"**No," I answer honestly, shaking my head. "We've been...fine. Just...getting the last of the details set up. Which reminds me—you have my bachelor party planned yet?"**

"**Isn't it a little soon for that?" he asks. "The wedding's still a month away."**

"**You know how far in advance some of these women get booked? I expect lots of strippers at the party, Wilson. If you don't deliver you're gonna end up having to take some of **_**your**_** clothes off."**

**I expected to smirk as he choked on his beer, but instead I end up with a vision in my head of Wilson in a thong sliding his back down a wall, staring at me with a lusty look in his eyes as he opens his legs. I hastily swivel my bar stool away from him.**

"**Really?" he asks once he's done choking. "Why are you here? If you and Cuddy are getting along so well then why aren't you at home with her?"**

**I don't answer. Instead I take another sip.**

**Wilson sighs. "I told myself I wouldn't do this," he mutters softly.**

"**Then don't."**

"**Just tell me you're happy," he pleads. "Tell me you love her with all your heart and you want more than anything to be her husband."**

**I look at him. "You didn't pregame, did you?"**

"**House, just tell me." **

**His eyes are pleading. God, those eyes. I force myself to look away. "I want to marry her."**

"For the wrong reasons," I spit out before I can stop myself.

"You're one to talk," he snaps at me.

"This isn't about me," I point out, holding his gaze. "Besides, even though it took me twenty years I've learned from my mistakes and I won't make the same one again. Quit changing the subject, House."

"Quit bringing up the subject," he argues. "I'm getting married in five weeks, Wilson. Whenever you get down to the wire I stop hassling you."

"House, you never stop hassling me—not even after I'm married."

"But I don't go interrogating you about your reasons for getting married either," he points out.

"Only because you already think you know my reasons."

"And you already know mine. I already told you, Wilson," he says, his voice lowering slightly as he turns back to his drink. "If she breaks up with me, I'm alone. I'm done with being alone, and I don't see you stepping up to the plate."

My heart stops in its tracks. I stare at him as he takes another sip of his scotch. He's not looking at me anymore. His eyes are focused on the glass in his hand. They're so beautiful. God how I want to kiss him. "You love me."

It's not some epiphany, some sudden realization. It's not a climax to a story, not the truth finally coming out, pardon the pun. It's a statement of fact: a fact I've known deep down for a long time. It's not me guessing, not asking, not even hoping. Just saying the words. He doesn't deny them.

"House," I murmur, and he turns to look at me. I shake my head. "House, just forget all of this. Cuddy, the wedding, let's just..."

"Just what?"

Have I mentioned how beautiful his eyes are? Swimming cerulean flecked with...hope?

I look down. "You don't need to marry her. We should just...be done with it."

"Done with what, Wilson?"

"Everything," I mutter. "All I do is sleep with all these women that somehow make it into my life and I've never been as happy as I pretend I am, or even close. And you, with Cuddy...maybe you're happier than you would be without her, House, but what you have with her isn't real. You don't belong with her. So let's just...forget all the rest of them. Forget everyone. Just...you and me." I sigh and look at him as the rest of the words come out in a rush. "House, it was always supposed to be you and me. We can't be happy with anyone else. I know you love me, I know it, and I've loved you for longer than I can remember. So just forget all the dating, the shallow relationships, the always wanting more we think we'll never have and just...just go somewhere. Alone."

He stares at me. He's beautiful.

"So...what?" he says, watching my eyes. "What? You want me to dump Cuddy and...marry you instead?"

I nod. More than once.

**He kind of looks like a bobble-head. I want to kiss him, but that's really just because I always want to kiss him. Now's not the time and place. I look down into my drink instead.**

"**Okay."**


	13. Chapter 13

**We didn't say anything else. I didn't go home with him, didn't drag him off for bathroom sex. I finished my drink and paid. He looked at me, said, "Are you leaving?" and I nodded. I did, for just a second, touch his arm as I walked past. Right above the elbow. Just for half a second. Then I went home. To my apartment.**

**I don't know why he didn't call me yesterday, but then again, I didn't call him either.**

**I walk into his office. He looks at me. Hopefully. Expectantly. Waiting.**

We only make eye contact for a second because he looks down. His eyes rest on the back of the patient chair in front of my desk. I recognize his thinking-what-to-say face.

"Did you mean it?" he asks finally. "What you said the other night?"

My heart pounds in my chest and I feel it start to race. I wait until he catches my eye before speaking. "Yes." I answer clearly and with certainty. "Did you?"

He nods. More than once.

I hadn't even realized I'd been holding my breath.

"So I should break up with Cuddy, then," he says softly.

"Probably a good idea," I whisper.

He nods and turns to leave.

"Wait."

House looks at me and I catch my breath. I don't think I've ever seen him this intense before. I get out of my chair and walk around my desk, up to him. I really want to touch him somehow, take his hand or something, but my nerves get the best of me. It's hard to think when I'm looking in his eyes. I shake my head.

"House, you can't do it now. She's at work, she's busy, now's not a good time. Wait until you get home, when you have time to talk it through."

"Is it okay if I tell her?"

He's actually asking. I know I'm blushing slightly as I think about it, because I hadn't really thought about that. She would spread it around, wouldn't she? If she were bitter, and who wouldn't be? There had been rumors about us for ages, and though they'd simmered down once House and Cuddy went public, all it would take would be a word for them to flare up again. Everyone from the chairman of the board to the custodians would know about us before we'd even had a first kiss.

What if it got even farther than that? I haven't even told my parents I'm gay yet, let alone...

I look in his eyes and god the world just comes to a screeching halt. They're so deep it looks like I could just jump in them and drown, and I honestly don't think I'd mind.

"If you need to tell her, tell her."

He nods, and then turns to go again.

"House."

I don't want him to leave. He turns back around and raises his eyebrows in question.

"I..." I've said these words a thousand times to dozens of people. I wonder if it's the weird timing and being in my office that makes me feel awkward. Yes, I sort of said it the other night at the bar, but not the exact words. It's different, saying those three words to someone for the first time. And saying them to a _man_ for the first time. I remember he told me once, but that was different...

I look in his eyes. That helps. A lot. "I love you."

He does smile. A bit. I smile back. He takes a step closer to me. Not kissing distance yet, but...well, he no longer looks like he wants to leave my office this minute.

"So you really want it, then?" he asks, his voice much gentler than I'm used to hearing from him. "Legit...getting married."

"Only if you do," I whisper, looking away. "I mean...technically they don't call it marriage here, we'd need to take a drive up north for that, but–"

"–Same thing, different name. Yeah, I get it." He takes a deep breath that I don't want to call a sigh because it doesn't seem discontent. "So...how...exactly are we going to do this? How...where...when?"

I smile to myself. He's not exactly looking forward to another year-long engagement. "Maybe we should sit down to talk about it," I suggest, and he follows me to my sofa. Instead of sitting right next to each other, we each sit at one end, the easier to see one another. "All right..." Seriously, his eyes have always enchanted me, so why is it so much more intense now? Is he looking at me differently? Am I looking at him differently? Had he been wearing clouding contacts for all the time I've known him and has just now taken them out? How am I supposed to survive a lifelong marriage with him if my brain turns to mush every time we make eye contact?

"All right," I repeat, somehow managing to regain track of what I'd planned to say. "Let's do this: how about you tell me what's most important for you to have and what's most important for you not to have. Then I'll tell you the same things for me and we'll try and reach a compromise. Okay?"

He nods, looking at the sofa's middle cushion.

"So...what do you want, House?"

"Honestly, Wilson," he says, shaking his head. "The...ceremony...whatever...that part's not important to me. Really, all I want is a week in Atlantic City filled with drinking, gambling, and sex." His eyes scan me up and down. "Especially sex."

I can't help blushing a little, and automatically look around to see if there's a file nearby in case...it becomes necessary...to have something on my lap...for whatever reason...

"And after that," he continues, and I look back at him, "lifetime commitment. Meaning no kicking me out and no one else." Then he shakes his head again. "That's all I want, Wilson. I'm guessing you'll probably want to add to that, but really...those are the only two things I really want."

I nod. "And what about what you don't want? Because...well...all right, I would like to...add to that, but not anything that will ruin it for you."

**I most certainly **_**do not**_** think that as long as it's him there really isn't any way to ruin it. Nothing like that would **_**ever**_** cross my mind. I can be a romantic when I want to be, but that doesn't mean I think gushy thoughts. Ever.**

"**All I don't want," I sigh, looking at him, "is anything religious, anything huge...outside of the bedroom, of course," I add, and smirk as he turns red. Then I sober. "And if we can avoid it, I don't want another long engagement. I'm not saying we need to get civilly unionized this weekend, but..."**

As he trails off I can't help but wonder if we _could_ do it this weekend. My mind races as I try to think of all we need and how long it would take...

"What about you?" he asks, bringing me back to the present. "What do you want in this...wedding?"

I smile. "Well," I say softly, "since you told me the bare minimum you require, I'll tell you the bare minimum I require. Maybe we don't need a...traditional ceremony with someone pronouncing us married in front of witnesses. I would like to make it legal, a marriage or a marriage by any other name, but the paperwork can be separate from the actual...getting married."

"So what do you want the 'actual getting married' to be?" he asks, watching me.

"How about we..." I shrug, "...go to Atlantic City, find somewhere to stand, just us, and make an exchanging of vows and rings?"

"Just us?" he repeats, studying me carefully. "You don't want someone pronouncing us man and husband in front of friends and family, then having a big party where Uncle Frank makes a toast before throwing up all over the table?"

I chuckle and shake my head. "I think I've had enough of those to last me a lifetime." And I look at him. "I want it to be different this time. I've done all the wedding planning and yes, it can be exciting when you're..." I look away and trail off, hesitant to insult House's relationship with Cuddy yet again.

"...doing it with a person you're actually in love with," House finishes for me.

I nod. "But House, we've both been there and done that. So unless you want to..."

"Are you out of your mind?" he asks, chuckling slightly, and I laugh. I love it when he smiles. "No registering for wedding gifts?" he asks. "No reception? No booking deejays and flowers and caterers and invitation designs?"

I shake my head. "None of that."

He's still smiling. "Wilson?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."


	14. Chapter 14

_I hear the door slam shut and cringe. Why does he always let it slam behind him? Why can't he just close it like a normal person?_

_When he comes into the living room I pretend not to notice him. He's been avoiding me for the last 24 hours (he didn't even come home last night! The least he could have done was call) so the least he deserves is for me to ignore him for awhile. I turn another page in my magazine and pretend I didn't even hear him come in. Although I am tempted to yell at him about letting the door slam again, but I don't know what the point is because he never seems to learn._

_He sits down on the sofa...not quite next to me, but on the other end. I wonder why. Can he tell I'm still angry with him and not quite in the mood to be super-close right now? Or is it just him not wanting to be affectionate?_

"_We need to talk, Cuddy," he says, his voice serious._

_I put my magazine down and look at him, surprised. If we need to have a serious conversation, I'm always the one who has to initiate it. Sometimes I wonder if he's even _capable_ of having a serious conversation._

_It's definitely his tone of voice that takes me aback. I can tell that whatever he's going to ask me for, it's not going to be easy to get him to change his mind about it. Whatever he's about to want, he's about to _want_. He's not going to want to budge on it. Already I feel the headache starting to form behind my eyes. I don't even know what it's about yet, but I feel this argument might take days for me to win. I might have to cut him off sex again, and I hate doing that because I enjoy it too. It's the one time we _don't_ need to have a fight for him to give me exactly what I want._

_I decide to let him start the conversation with whatever he wants to talk about rather than changing the subject and chewing him out for not coming home last night and for avoiding me all day today. That way I can use those things as ammunition later in the argument._

"_All right," I say, looking him in the eye. "What?"_

_House shakes his head. "We have to break the engagement."_

_I'm surprised to find that this statement doesn't completely shock me. For months now I've been able to tell, from his disinterest in wedding planning, that he really doesn't want to marry me. For God's sakes, he didn't even _care_ what his wedding ring looked like. He had months to buy me a new engagement ring and never did, and for every other aspect of the wedding he would either try to fight with me or just blindly agree with me instead of having his own opinion. Though I didn't really think about it at the time, I know now that the only reason he even proposed in the first place was so that I wouldn't break up with him, as I'd been about to do. I believe that he loves me and I believe that he wants to spend the rest of his life with me, but I don't believe that he really wants to marry me._

_This thought has stewed in my mind for so long, and there have been so many arguments when I've been tempted to call him out on it. The only reason I never did was because I figured he would break the engagement, and I want so badly to marry him._

_I think about today's date—October 24. Just over a month until our wedding date. Everything is already planned and, if not entirely paid for, at least has a nonrefundable deposit already set. The only thing we haven't done yet is gotten our marriage license, and we still have plenty of time for that. But everything is already set. We _are_ getting married in five weeks. It's happening._

"_House, that's ridiculous," I say, shaking my head. "Look, I understand that maybe some of this...planning has been less than fun for you, but that's done with now. Everything's all set and arranged, it's happening. We're getting married."_

"_No, Cuddy, we're not," he says._

"_Yes we are," I argue, crossing my arms and glaring at him. "We're not backing out now, not when everything's all planned and we've spent the average American's yearly salary booking things."_

"_I'll refund you your half," he suggests. "But we're not getting married, Cuddy."_

"_And what the hell makes you think that?" I demand, getting up from the sofa and putting my hands on my hips to glare down at him. "After all the planning we've done, all the stupid things we've fought over, what the hell makes you think you can just call it off just a month before it happens?"_

_He stands up as well, quite a bit taller than I am without my shoes on. "Because we need to break up," he says._

_I sit back down._

_I honestly never thought he'd be the one to call it off. The very fist day we got together, he told me we would break up. I told him it wasn't true, and I told myself it wasn't true. I accepted his marriage proposal in the hope that a wedding would make him wrong about us. I've spent our whole relationship trying so hard to prove him wrong, knowing, deep down, he was probably right._

_But I always thought it would be me. It almost was, several times. Why would it be him? He's the one who's always doing stuff to piss me off, not the other way around. He's the one who has to make everything into a fight, who can never do a single thing I ask him to do. He's the one who frustrates me to no end. Why in the world would _he _want to break up with _me_?_

_And then I start to wonder...maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I do frustrate him the way that he frustrates me. Maybe...all this stuff I ask him to do...maybe he resents that. I mean, compromise is part of a relationship, he needs to understand that, but...what if I've been asking too much of him?_

_I think about the last ten months, about everything we've planned for the wedding._

_No. Everything _I've_ planned for the wedding._

_What did he pick out? His own wedding ring. Some gifts at a department store while I was gone._

_Anything else?_

_He wanted chocolate cake with chocolate mousse frosting, but we ordered vanilla and raspberry. He wanted classic rock music for the reception, but we got a mixture of classical and pop._

_I chose his tux, I chose our flowers, I chose the design for our invitations, I chose the hotel, I chose the rabbi, I chose the honeymoon location, I chose the vows..._

_Some of those things he didn't really care about, but some he did. I got upset with him when he had an opinion that differed from mine, but I also got upset with him when he didn't offer an opinion at all._

_Maybe...maybe I should have let him have some say._

_I'm a perfectionist and I want everything in our wedding to be perfect. But House...House must have wanted some things in the wedding too._

_He didn't even want to get married in the first place. But he...agreed to._

_He agreed to a lot of things._

_But why now? Our wedding is a month away, why is he just now ending it?_

"_House, what brought this on?" I ask, my voice quiet. "I...I've been thinking and...maybe...I've been a bit...controlling...through this process, but...that can change," I say, taking his hand in mine._

_He pulls away and I feel tears form in my eyes._

"_You're just now realizing that?" he says stoically. "Cuddy, anytime I wanted anything in this relationship, you shot me down. And I told myself it was worth it because I was getting you, getting you for the rest of my life, and I wanted you. So I was willing to do whatever because I didn't want to lose you."_

"_House, I don't want to lose _you_," I whisper, only realizing as the words tumble out exactly how true they are. "If I've been too hard on you, I'm sorry. But I love you and you love me. We can work this out together, I know we can. Just...just tell me, House. Things can be different."_

**I stare at her. This is so different from the way she's acted since we've been together, with the exception, maybe, of the first day when she thought I was ending things before they even got started.**

**It's now hitting me why she didn't break up with me over the engagement ring. She wanted us to work out just as much as I did. Just like I was most likely to compromise when I thought our relationship was threatened, now that she thinks it's threatened, she's willing to compromise. Maybe she doesn't love me exactly the way I am, like she said she does, but she does love me enough that she wants me in her life and she's willing to do whatever's necessary not to lose me.**

**I wish I'd known that sooner.**

**But it's too late now.**

**I think of Wilson and my heart stops. Now that I know I can have him nothing Cuddy says can possibly make a difference. Even if I really believed she could change (which, whatever she's saying now, she won't), I still wouldn't want it. Not when I can have Wilson.**

**I shake my head at her. "That's not gonna happen, Cuddy. It's too late now."**

"_So why didn't you tell me sooner?" I ask, tears now running down my cheeks. "House, I've given you plenty of chances when you've screwed up. If whatever I was doing was too much for you, then why didn't you say something and give me a chance to try and change? Don't you think you owe me that?"_

_He looks at me like he's studying me. "If I'd know you were up to trying," he says eventually, "then maybe I would have said something sooner, made this all less painful. But like I said, it's too late now."_

"_It's never too late," I argue. "We can at least try, can't we? We love each other."_

_He smiles sadly, an odd expression I don't think I've ever seen on him before. "Yeah," he agrees. "I do love you, and I always will, but..." He sighs, looking away. "There's someone else. Someone I love more."_

_I'm floored._

_My first thought is wonder, given how he gets along with 99% of the human population, at who else could possibly want him, but I immediately chide myself for that thought. It's mean. Stacy loved him. Cameron...thought she loved him._

_But who else? Wouldn't I have noticed if he'd been seeing someone behind my back?_

_And then my thoughts immediately turn to anger._

"_You've been cheating on me?" I accuse, suddenly thinking that if he weren't breaking up with me now I'd break up with him. Of all House's flaws, I never thought infidelity would be among them._

"_No," he says cooly. "I never cheated on you."_

"_Then how else did you have the time to meet and fall in love with someone else? Is it someone at the hospital?" I ask, realizing it must be, because he almost never spends time anywhere else._

_House nods._

_I didn't even know anyone at the hospital even liked House aside from half his team, myself, and Wilson._

"_Who?"_

_He eyes me. "I'm not telling you until you give me your word not to tell anyone," he says seriously. "It's no one's business but ours. We'll choose who we choose to tell. You don't have a right to spread it around."_

_Again, it's his tone of voice that really takes me aback. He's so serious about this. I feel hurt, wishing he'd taken our relationship half as seriously._

"_Since when am I a gossip, House?" I ask him. "Don't you know how sick I am of rumors flying around my hospital? You really think I'd help spread them?"_

**I've got to admit she has a point. She's never been the type to gossip about her employees. Before we were dating I thought maybe she just wouldn't share this gossip with me because I **_**was**_** an employee, but even as my girlfriend she was never interested in hearing about which of the nurses had had sex changes or who was supposedly dating a radiologist **_**and**_** an OB-GYN.**

"**Just give me your word," I say anyway, not wanting to take any chances. The last thing I need is Wilson bolting at the last minute because he's outed before he's ready.**

"**All right," she agrees. "I won't tell anyone. But **_**you**_** tell **_**me**_**, House, who you're leaving me for."**

**It occurs to me that she won't believe me. She'll get angry, she'll think I'm joking or that I made it up just to break up with her.**

**Then I realize it doesn't matter. The point is for us to break up, and that's still going to happen whether she believes me or not. If she thinks I'm lying she'll be just as keen to break up with me as ever, angry and bitter about the fact that I 'made up' some stupid story about Wilson just to end our relationship.**

**I smile because no matter what her reaction is, in ten minutes I'll be packing a suitcase and going back to my apartment. My relationship with Cuddy will be over and the one with Wilson about to begin. Nothing she says can possibly change that.**

**I look my ex-fiancée in the eye as I grab my cane, preparing to heave myself off the couch. "It's Wilson."**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** You know, I was actually going to end the scene there and go straight to House and Wilson's afternoon the next day. But since so many reviewers were so anxious to see exactly what happens next, I continued it. And I'm actually pretty glad I did except that now I feel bad for Cuddy. Oh well. Enjoy.

_I close my eyes for a second and then open them again. "House," I say slowly and carefully, "please, don't do this. If you're leaving me for someone else just tell me who she is. If you want to break up with me for some other reason then just tell me. Please don't lie about it."_

_He just scoffs and pushes himself off the sofa. "I'm not lying."_

_"House, please. Just have enough respect for me to tell me the truth."_

_"I am!" He's glaring at me and I'm glaring right back at him. Why is he doing this? I don't understand it. What infuriates me even more is that he's still speaking so seriously, almost as though he actually expects me to believe him. How dumb does he think I am? People don't just suddenly turn gay at age 51._

_"House, if Wilson were a woman I have no doubt he'd be the love of your life, but last time I checked, he's not."_

_"How closely have you checked?" he asks, dropping the false seriousness for a second to smirk at me. How dare he joke at a time like this! Jumping up off the sofa, I summon up all my strength and slap him across the face, and I'm not sorry. _

_For a second he just looks stunned. _

"_All right," he says after a minute. "Maybe I deserved that, but this is my cue to leave."_

_"How dare you," I whisper. "How dare you stand there and play games with our relationship. How dare you look at me pretending to be all somber and then just joke about leaving me for, of all people, your _male _best friend. I can't believe I agreed to marry you. How could I ever love someone so cruel?"_

_"I'm not being cruel and I wasn't joking, Cuddy," he insists, his attitude returning to the pretend soberness I can now see right through. "You never asked me about my sexual history before. If you had I would have told you I'm an equal opportunity lover."_

_I scoff. "Right. Say whatever you want, House, I don't care. Just go. That's what you wanted anyway, that's why you're putting me through this. So go. Leave. I don't want to see your face again."_

_He spends another second looking at me. I sit back down and stare determinedly at the floor. Then he goes down the hall, I presume to collect his things from the bedroom and bathroom. It doesn't take him long. Even though he's been technically living here for almost a year now, he still never moved in the majority of his stuff other than his clothes and toiletries._

_Just another indication of exactly how committed to me he was._

_Just like this is._

_To not only break up with me out of nowhere, but to tell a blatant lie about why and treat it as though it were the truth. I really thought he was better than that. I really did. And I really thought he was better than just stringing me along and dropping me as though I were nothing._

_Nothing. I'm nothing to him. And that's what he's proven today._

_I still haven't moved from the sofa even though I know it's getting to be time to wake Rachel up from her nap and start dinner. He pauses at the front door and looks at me. I don't look at him._

"_I'm telling the truth, you know," he says again. "About Wilson. I know it still hurts that this is so sudden, but it's not for no reason."_

_I shake my head. "House, just go."_

_I hear the door open and the sound of his suitcase rolling over the sill of the door. The door slams behind him. I hug my knees and cry._

—

I can't help smiling as I see House striding across the floor to meet me. And I feel even happier when he gives me a small smile in return.

"So your ex-girlfriend accosted me this morning," I announce, holding the door open for him as we exit the hospital.

"She believe you?"

"No, she just got mad that I was 'playing along' with you. I kind of feel bad, you know. She's so upset and hurt about it, but she wouldn't let me comfort her. She just stormed off."

He laughs, and the sound rings. "You're the only person in the world who would try to _comfort_ your current fiancé's ex-fiancée."

"I don't think that's true," I disagree gently, getting into my car beside him.

It's lunchtime on Tuesday, and because I am determined to marry House this weekend and the paperwork takes three days to process, House and I are on our way to the Registrar to apply for our civil union license before the place closes. I booked our hotel online last night (House said since my credit card would be the one paying for it, I could choose the hotel as long as it had all his required amenities) and I'm taking him to a jewelry store after work to buy rings. Honestly, I'm a little nervous about how that's going to go, considering what happened the last time I witnessed House attempt to choose a wedding ring, but I don't think I'll be nearly as hard on him as Cuddy was.

"So there's this beautiful fountain out in front of our hotel," I tell House. "I called them up to check and they keep it running through November, so I was thinking maybe that's where we could...you know..."

"Promise to only do it with each other for the rest of our lives?" he fills in.

I nod. "I was thinking it said in a more eloquent way...but yes."

"So what are we gonna say to each other?" he asks, glancing at me. "Since we won't have someone there telling us...?"

I look at him. "I don't want to choose your vows for you, House. It's like putting words in your mouth. I want you to make a vow to do...whatever it is you plan to do for the rest of your life with me." I see his smirk and quickly add, "while keeping it PG-13."

"Yeah, Wilson, I know," he says. Then he looks at me. "Vow whatever you want, Wilson. It's what you do that matters."

"Yeah," I say softly. "I know. But I want you to believe that I'm going to keep them."

"I'll make a mental note to put that in my vows," he promises, and I smile. "So..." he continues a moment later, "...do I need to...wear a tux to this...vow thing?"

"How about a suit?" I suggest. "Would that be too much of a hassle?"

"I guess not," he agrees.

I glance over to see him smiling slightly. I reach across the center console and squeeze his fingers for just a second before returning both hands to the wheel.

**When we go to choose rings after work, I find it's not nearly as traumatic as it was with Cuddy. The store is small, the salespeople surprisingly unconcerned that their customers are a same-sex couple. Maybe it's because a sale's a sale, or maybe it's because the two males working there are clearly also gay.**

**Wilson looks around first; I just follow him. Close. Not touching, but even closer than we normally walk. Close enough that I can hear him breathing.**

"**What do you like?" I ask.**

"**White gold," he admits. "All my other wedding rings have been yellow gold and I...I never liked it as much."**

"**Diamonds?"**

**He smiles and shakes his head.**

"**What, you think I can't afford to buy you diamonds, Wilson?"**

"**You're actually paying for my wedding ring?" he asks, looking surprised.**

**I shrug. "If you're paying for mine."**

"**During the twenty years I've known you, you've never once paid for anything."**

"**That's not true," I disagree. "On the three or four occasions I bought you a present, I paid for it myself."**

**He smiles. "So this is my wedding present?" he asks.**

"**Yup. And it's the only material one you're getting, so make it a good one."**

**Wilson's smiling again. I look at the same rings he does, trying to find one that I like, but none of them stand out to me. They're just metal circles with designs on them. I chose the correct spouse this time; isn't that the important part?**

"**I don't want something flashy," Wilson tells me as we walk. "I don't need diamonds. The ring I got with Julie had diamonds going all around and I never liked it. Designs...I wouldn't mind a simple design, as long as it's elegant. I don't want just a plain ring with nothing on it, but..."**

"**What about that one?" I interrupt, pointing to a ring. It's the only one in the case in front of us that doesn't have diamonds, an ugly gaudy design, or yellow gold. The ring is simple white gold with two thin grooves going all around, each about a millimeter or two from the edge of the ring.**

"**I like that one," Wilson whispers, staring at it. "Not too busy, but not..."**

"**Not boring," I interrupt, and he smiles.**

**A salesman comes over to take the ring from the case for Wilson to try on. He holds his hand up to look at it from different angles, and for me to see.**

"**That is one sexy finger, Wilson," I comment, and he chuckles, taking the ring off and returning it to the salesman.**

"**I really do like it," Wilson admits, either to him or to me. "It's so different from all the other rings I've had."**

"**Would you like to look at a few more, or do you think this is the one?" the salesman asks.**

**Wilson looks down at the ring again, and then at me. When he smiles again, his whole face lights up. "No," he says, clearly still talking to the salesman but looking at me. "This is the one."**

**The salesman nods. "And what about you, sir?" he addresses me. "What sort of band are you looking for?"**

**The fact that I have no idea what I want has not changed just because the fiancé has. But I do know what I don't want. No diamonds, nothing ugly, nothing in some crappy cheap metal that doesn't match Wilson's...well, that's a starting place.**

**I point to Wilson's ring on the velvet. "Something that matches that," I inform him. "White gold...and simple but not boring."**

**The salesman nods and heads to another counter. A few minutes later, he's brought back five white gold rings, which he lays on the velvet next to Wilson's ring. One has a groove slightly thicker than Wilson's ring going around the center, one has a brushed finish around most of the ring but a polished finish around the edges, one has mil-grain edges, one has a satin finished stripe in the center, and one has two mil-grain stripes around a brushed finish.**

**I stare at the rings and have to admit the guy did a pretty good job. I can picture any of them on my left ring finger for the rest of my life.**

**Something jogs in my memory and I smile to myself. Then I look down at the rings again, taking a second to study each one. For some reason I don't **_**want**_** to just pick one at random. I mean, it doesn't matter which one I get, I'm gonna love Wilson just the same if I pick A or B.**

"**Which one do you like, Wilson?" I ask.**

"**They're all nice," he says, and laughs when I roll my eyes at him.**

"**Well which one's your **_**favorite**_**?"**

**He looks at them for a second and points to the ring he chose, which the salesman hasn't put back yet. I roll my eyes again. "Helpful, Wilson."**

**Then...**

**I turn to face him. He's within kissing distance, but I don't kiss him. I spend a second looking into his eyes. "Can I get the same one as you?" I don't want to just choose it. It's **_**his**_** ring, he's got dibs on it. I wouldn't care about something like that, but just in case Wilson does...this is something I really don't want to fuck up.**

**But Wilson's still smiling at me. "Of course," he says.**

**I continue looking in his eyes. There isn't a trace of resentment or irritation that I got the same thing he did instead of picking my own. He doesn't see it as now the ring is no longer 'his.' I bet he thinks it's romantic that we're getting the same ring. That must be it. Not just matching rings, but exactly the same ring. That's why he's smiling at me. I want to kiss him, but I don't. I turn back to the counter and tell the salesman I'll take it.**

**We get sized and decide on carats, make it clear that it's a rush order, and put deposits down. I inform Wilson that I'm hungry, and he chuckles and asks me where I want to go for dinner. He puts a hand on the small of my back as we leave the jewelry store. After we eat he drops me off at home. I'm not sure why we don't just go back to his place for some wild and crazy sex, but we don't. And I'm strangely okay with that.**

**We'll be married in less than a week. That thought is so weird for me, but so...I don't know. It's like, finally. About time, right?**

**Right.**

**It's right.**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **Just a heads-up, I changed the rating from T to M. Most of you probably don't care, and except for a couple of allusions there isn't really anything M-worthy for the next couple of chapters, but...there will be.

**While Cuddy spent Tuesday avoiding me in her anger over me dumping her and "completely copping out by making up some ridiculously idiotic story about Wilson," by Wednesday she's decided to punish both of us by putting us in clinic duty all day. What she didn't count on was the fact that assigning both of us to clinic means we're basically spending the whole day together. I get to make whispered lewd remarks whenever we pass each other and smirk at the embarrassed grin that inevitably crosses his face each time. Once between patients I jerk off in the exam room, imagining Wilson doing the exact same thing on the other side of the wall even though I know he's way too much of a goody two-shoes. He turns a particularly interesting shade of pink when I tell him what I just did, and his wide smirk and snigger make me want to go back in there and do it again. Or, better yet, drag him in there with me.**

**But instead I call my next patient. Yeah, I'd rather be working on an actual case, but since I don't plan on being contactable from Saturday forward there's no point in finding one. The last thing I want is to spend my wedding night distracted because I have a dying patient I haven't cured yet. And really, as much as I hate clinic, it's somehow more tolerable than it usually is. Probably because being newly engaged to Wilson has put me in a semi-permanent good mood that even flue-ridden toddlers and syphilis-infested senior citizens can't mess up.**

**Thursday and Friday are spent much the same as Wednesday, except that Friday afternoon Cuddy tries to give me a case.**

"**Not interested," I inform her. "I've already cleared my vacation time with human resources. I'm not spending my honeymoon on the phone with my underlings when I could be spending it getting into Wilson's pants."**

**Cuddy slams the file down on my desk. "Will you quit calling this ridiculous vacation—a vacation I have not approved—a honeymoon? This absurd charade with Wilson has gone on long enough and it's time to knock it off, House. If you wanted to break up with me, you should at least have respected me enough not to lie about it. Silly me for actually thinking you had it in you to treat anyone with some amount of decency. Even someone you claimed to love."**

"**Believe what you want," I say cooly. "I told you a million times I wasn't lying about Wilson and I wasn't lying when I said I loved you. I know I hurt you and I'm sorry it had to come to that, but it's done. It'd be nice if you respected me enough to believe me when I'm telling the truth, but maybe I don't deserve it. I don't know. I do know that I have earned a week of vacation and I'm taking it. Since I plan on getting hitched to Wilson and having sex with him multiple times a day during this vacation, I call it a honeymoon. But whatever, Cuddy. If you don't want to believe it, don't."**

**She just glares at me. "You're taking the case," she states. Then she storms off.**

**I leave the file on the table in the diagnostic room without opening it. Foreman or Chase will find it eventually. When it's time to leave, I put my cell phone in my desk drawer and lock it. I go to Wilson's office and convince him to leave through the E.R. in case Cuddy's guarding the main entrance.**

At first, when he suggests sneaking out behind Cuddy's back I don't like it, but it only takes a minute to have me convinced. It hurts me that she won't even consider believing us, that she's so trivializing the one thing in my life that's actually real to me. But at the same time, I feel bad for her because she was just dumped by the love of her life with no warning. I never thought she belonged with him, and this feeling just grew stronger the longer they were together, but I do believe she loved him even if she didn't quite know how to show it. Even if she only thought she loved him, it still hurt. I was devastated after being dumped by Sam both times, and though I cared for her I was never really in love with her. I was in love with the idea of being in love with her, of playing the straight man and hiding my true feelings from the world. And getting divorced made me feel like such a failure. Cuddy's probably feeling like a failure right now, and she has my sympathy for that.

But that doesn't give her the right to try and stop House and I from taking our earned vacation time and leaving the hospital, so we sneak out the back and manage to not get caught.

We stop at the courthouse on the way home to have a judge legally join us in the civil union, but since we've planned our own private ceremony for tomorrow at the hotel, neither House nor I consider us married yet. House would probably word it differently and I wouldn't tell him it out loud, but the exchanging of rings and the promising of vows is what will marry us in my heart. The legality of it doesn't matter; it mostly exists to give us rights as a couple. So, yes, we are "officially" the State of New Jersey's same-sex equivalent of married today, but I consider our wedding day tomorrow. I know House feels the same. When we sign the papers and the judge pronounces us legal, instead of kissing me he holds out his hand for a fist bump. I drop him off at his apartment instead of taking him back to the condo with me. We both need to pack for tomorrow anyway.

—

I open my eyes and my heart jumps about a mile as I remember what day it is.

My wedding day.

Though I've been through this three times before, I've never felt this way before. The butterflies are still here, but I don't feel like I want to throw them up. Usually my nerves outweigh my excitement, but not this time.

I can't stop smiling as I shower, gather my things, and drop my spare key off with Nora so she can water my plants while I'm gone. It's still mostly impossible to believe that this day is finally here. Surreal. All of it's happening so fast, but at the same time I've been waiting for this for twenty years.

House is standing outside his apartment wearing sunglasses when I get there. I see him and grin, and he smirks at my reaction.

"Hey," I greet. "Ready?"

"Yup," he chirps, and gets into the passenger seat leaving me to put his suitcase and garment bag in the trunk. But I don't really mind.

We grab a late lunch and pick up our rings before making the drive down to Atlantic City.

"Look, House," I say excitedly when we get to the hotel and I see the fountain out front. Not that I've never seen a gigantic fountain before, but...I can't help thinking over and over again that this is the spot where I'm going to marry the love of my life.

We check in and get some of our stuff settled, and House disappears into the bathroom to change while I'm exiled to the suite. After I change into the new suit I bought earlier this week for the occasion, I tap on the bathroom door.

"House, you almost ready?"

"Yeah," he calls, his voice muffled through the wood. "You go ahead, I'll meet you down there."

"Okay."

I'm a little apprehensive about not walking down with him, but I trust that he's not going to run off on me at the last minute or anything. I take the elevator down to the lobby and beam at everyone I pass. I squeeze House's ring in my pocket and recite the vows I've been planning on in my head.

While I wait, I sit down on the edge of the fountain and let the sound of the splashing water calm me. It is a beautiful fountain, large and round with smaller fountains forming a circle inside it, surrounding the giant center that shoots water several stories high.

Only a few minutes pass before I happen to glance at the hotel entrance and see House walking toward me. My breath catches in my throat and I can't help but just stare at him, rising slowly to a standing position.

I've seen him in suits before but either I've forgotten how handsome he is or something's different about today.

He's dressed in a charcoal suit with a blue dress shirt that does wonders to bring out the azure of his eyes. He's not wearing a tie, but his shirt is not wrinkled and there's no obnoxious t-shirt underneath. His cane is elegant black wood with a silver tip and handle. It's one I've never seen before and I wonder if he bought it just for today.

House is smiling at me as he approaches, a real smile, and the whole effect is so dazzling I can't take my eyes off him. I have to remind myself to breathe.

**He's staring at me like he's never quite seen me before, but maybe that means he's too distracted to notice that I'm staring at him too. His suit is white, or some sort of off-white, and it makes me think about Cuddy and how I can never be thankful enough that it's him and not her. I **_**always**_** wanted it to be him. It was always supposed to be him. He is my life and the only thing I ever want. And I'm grateful that he can't read minds because these are the kinds of things I would never tell him but it doesn't make them any less true.**

**It seems to take an eternity to reach him, though it's probably only a few minutes, but all the more time to enjoy the view. I love his smile. And the man's fucking **_**glowing**_**. I've seen him on two wedding days before today but I've never seen him look like this. His smile had always been wide and perfect but it was never this...real. The emotions in his eyes have never been so tender and so revealed, so bare. I know all before was just a façade but this...I know this isn't. **

**Wilson doesn't need to vow anything to me because I can tell just from looking at him that he is in love with me and that's not going to change. He cheated before not because he fell out of love, but because he was never really in love to begin with. He put on painted smiles and threw fancy expensive parties and bought giant diamonds to try and cover up the fact that he knew none of them were ever the one. He told himself they could be, even convinced himself of it. He convinced the rest of the world, even me at times, that he was happy and in love when it was never true. He's never been happy because he's never been fulfilled; he's always been longing for something more. And the way that he's looking at me right now on this, the day of our wedding, shows me that I am that something more. I am what he's always wanted. And he is what I've always wanted. And today we are finally going to get it.**

**At long last I reach my fiancé, and I smile at him. "Hey."**


	17. Chapter 17

"Hey," I reply, breathless for some reason. "House, you...you look great."

He looks me up and down. "You look...bridal."

"Very funny."

"Seriously, Wilson, you do know what white is supposed to symbolize, right? Or is the great Panty-Peeler of Princeton still secretly a virgin?"

"First of all, it's ivory, not white," I point out, and House rolls his eyes. "And second of all, in a manner of speaking..." I feel the heat come to my face and glance around quickly, lowering my voice, "...tonight _will_ be my first time. You know..."

He nods, watching me carefully. I'm suddenly nervous, hoping this doesn't change anything.

"All right," I say, clearing my throat, knowing I'm still blushing. "Should we...uh...get started then?"

House shakes his head. "You're not ready yet."

I stare at him. "I'm not...?"

And then, out of nowhere, he produces a white rose boutonniere. I stare, open-mouthed, as he pins it to my lapel. He leaves his hand on my chest a second longer than necessary and then looks back at me.

"Okay," he says brightly. "Now you're ready."

I stare at House, suddenly feeling guilty. "I didn't get one for you."

"Good," he says. "I would have made fun of you if you had. Since when do I care about flowers? FYI—if we ever get into a fight and you want me to forgive you, bring me chocolate, not flowers." He pauses a second. "Or just offer to blow me. That'll probably work too."

I smile weakly. "House, I'm so s–"

"–I swear to god, Wilson, if you apologize the wedding's off."

This time my smile is genuine, and House looks relieved. "So...are we gonna get on with this or just stand out here all day?"

"All right," I say gently. I hold out my hands to him. He leans his cane against the wall of the fountain and takes them. For a second we look at each other.

"Who goes first?" House asks.

I chuckle. "Usually the groom."

"Well, since you're the one in white..."

"But you're the one who walked toward me while I stood at the...for lack of a better term...altar."

"Which of us proposed?" House asks, looking past me as he thinks back.

I shake my head. "I don't think either of us did. We just...kind of agreed on it."

"Well you go first," he instructs. "Not because there's anything remotely bridal about me, but because you're the one who knows what he's doing when it comes to this stuff."

"Okay," I agree. I smile at him. He smiles a bit tentatively back. I squeeze his hands in mine.

"**House," he begins, watching me. Smiling. "You are my best friend and the only person I know I want to spend the rest of my life with. I...I love you." His voice has lowered to a whisper for some reason, and I think I see tears forming in his eyes. "I loved you from the start. And now that I can take you...as my...husband..." He's squeezing my fingers so hard I might lose circulation soon, but I don't complain. I just continue looking in his eyes and let him finish his speech. "...I promise to treat you better than I ever have before. House, I will always be there for you, I will never leave you. I will stand by your side through whatever life throws at us and I will be faithful and loyal to you." He is...almost crying. Almost a little bit. "I swear it, Greg. I love you and I loved you from the start."**

**He's shaking a little. I'm guessing baring his soul probably has something to do with him being scared. But I don't want him to be scared. This is supposed to be happy. "Wilson," I murmur, and let go of his hand to touch his cheek for just a second. "It's okay."**

**Wilson grabs my hand again and nods, giving me a wobbly smile. "I love you," he whispers.**

"**Yeah," I reply. "I love you, too."**

I know he just said those words a few days ago, but he'll never know how immensely reassured I am by hearing them again. I take the hand that he'd put to my cheek and quickly kiss two of his fingers before lowering our hands back to waist level.

House takes a deep breath and makes eye contact with me. His eyes are clear.

"You know words aren't my thing," he starts. "I can say anything I want, but it's what I do that matters." He squeezes my hands for a second. "But since I know how important this is to you...I'll tell you. I...I'm not gonna change for you. But...within the confines of being me, I'll try to make you happy. I will trust you to be true to me and true to your word to me. And as your...husband...I will give myself to you in every way that I can. I'm yours. And last...this isn't even something that I need to promise because it'd be true no matter what...but I will, James Wilson, love you every day of my life."

I stare at him for another second. He clears his throat and nods toward me. "Rings," he reminds.

Right. Rings. I fumble in my pocket for his, produce it and slide it onto his finger. "I give you this ring to symbolize my love and my commitment to you...forever."

He finds my ring and time seems to slow down as he takes my hand and puts the ring on my finger. "I give you this ring as a symbol of doing stuff for you just because I know it will make you happy. I love you and am committed to you anyway."

I can't help but smile. He looks up from our hands and smiles back at me. I love how frequently he's been doing that and wonder if he has any idea how he glows when he smiles.

And then I realize...this is it. We're married. And we both know what comes next...

**When I look at him I can tell we're both thinking the exact same thing: we're supposed to kiss now, right?**

**I lean forward a bit and he leans forward a bit. We watch each other carefully, neither of us wanting to move quickly out of some ridiculous fear of appearing too eager. But eventually we meet in the middle, our lips touching for a second of semi-awkward this-**_**is**_**-what-we're-supposed-to-do-right?**

But the awkwardness vanishes the instant our lips touch. The first kiss is very fast and brief, more a peck than anything else, but we pull back just far enough to make eye contact. I gasp because I've never seen someone's expression change so quickly from tentative doubt to intense and passionate desire. It's that, even more so than his lips on mine again a nanosecond later, that causes the stirring I'm feeling throughout my body. Especially in the...pants...area. We open and close our mouths against each other, and I'm fighting with all my strength not to let out a whimper or any other sort of sound.

**He licks my lips, and I let him into my mouth to explore. I think he's still shaking for some reason, but I'm too distracted to care. I can't remember the last time, if there ever was one, I've been kissed with this much passion, and I want to return all I'm giving. After we break apart for a quick second of breathing, I return my lips to his and take my turn. I press, I want him to feel what I'm feeling. I want to communicate it without words, to show him what he is to me.**

**But I realize kisses have their limits and pull back. I want to give him more and I can't do that standing in front of a hotel next to a fountain. Then I see his auburn eyes glowing at me with desire and rethink my ability to publicly display love.**

"**What do you think?" I murmur, stroking his cheek with the hand that somehow made its way to his face during our kiss. "Should we ditch the reception and skip straight to the wedding night?"**

**Wilson chuckles. "Wasn't that our plan to begin with?" he asks softly, eyes as radiant as ever.**

"**Yeah," I whisper. "But I think it's even more our plan now."**

"**You're right," he whispers back. He kisses me again for three seconds that I savor. Then he steps back and takes my hand, leading me back to the hotel.**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** This chapter is rated M for sex. How many of you read that and are now cheering to yourselves? *Shakes head* There will be one more chapter after this, I'll have it up as soon as I finish it.

I am...a little scared...as we take the elevator up to our hotel room. But I hold House's hand and remind myself it's him, and that eases my nerves somewhat if not completely.

He's kissing me again once we're in the room and I forget everything else. I hold his face in my hands, stroking his hair, feeling his lips against mine and his tongue in my mouth. His hand clutches my waist, almost hard enough to hurt, but it doesn't because I'm kissing him and kissing him and he is all there is.

I don't want to stop, but my attempt to walk backwards toward the bed results in me tripping over a towel House left on the floor and falling on my ass.

**I can't help laughing at him, but I also help him up. I kiss him again, briefly, because I want to, but pull away because I do want us to make it to the bed in one piece. When we get there I use my cane to push Wilson's suitcase off the comforter and onto the floor. He's left it open so all his crap falls out, but he doesn't complain, not even a "House!" Instead he just scrambles onto the bed and pulls me on with him, sealing our lips together again.**

**He kisses me intensely, running his fingers through my hair and sliding his other hand under my suit jacket to curl around my waist. I just kiss back with everything I can, wanting to start taking his clothes off but unable to because I'm basically lying on top of him. Not wanting to sit up and break contact, I manage to work my hands between our bodies to remove his tie and unbutton his shirt. Since I can't reach anything else, for the time being I content myself with the kissing, enjoying the feel of his hands on my back and the back of my neck.**

**But I know we can't go on like this for too long. After only a few minutes I'm already completely hard and can feel that he is too. If we keep this up I know we're both just going to ruin our suit pants. And that part, of course, I couldn't care less about, but I don't want it to be like that. Not now. Tomorrow, absolutely. Tomorrow on we can dry hump as much as we want, as long as some actual sex gets thrown in as well. But not now.**

**So as much as I don't want to, I pull back, sitting up on the bed. Wilson remains lying down, panting and staring at me with shining eyes halfway between love-struck and lust-struck.**

**I kiss him again. I can't not.**

**But I keep it brief, and I take his hands, pulling him so he's also in a sitting position. Then I kiss him again. And again. I remember my ambition to rid him of his clothing and somehow manage to get his shirt and jacket off just through feeling, with my eyes still closed and my lips still attached to his.**

**I run my hands over Wilson's chest and back and he moans. He presses his whole body against me, which includes his hardened cock through his pants. That makes **_**me**_** moan, and I press back for a second before stopping and letting go of him. I press my forehead to his, holding onto the back of his neck and breathing. "We need to...slow this down..." I mutter between breaths.**

"**I know," he admits sadly, stroking my hair. It feels so nice, sensual without being completely erotic. I resist the temptation to kiss him again because I know even if I'm just planning on a quick peck it will turn into more groping. So instead I back away, heaving myself off the bed and standing, resting my weight on my left side, and staring at my Wilson.**

**He's staring right back at me, rubbing himself automatically through his pants. God that's so hot. Knowing I'm standing up with a tent in my own pants, I wonder if he's thinking the same thing.**

He's so sexy, I can't help thinking over and over again. But I smile, as I remember I don't need to keep it to myself anymore. I don't need to hide anymore. House and I are _married_ now. If I think he's sexy, I can tell him so. I do. He smiles.

"You ain't seen nothing yet," he says, and begins to take off his suit jacket.

I force myself to sit on my hands because I'm afraid I might give into the urge to just rub myself harder and end things before they start. I don't want to do that. There was a reason House said we needed to slow down. And I agreed with him. I just...didn't have his self-control. I laugh softly at that, the fact that for once _he_ was the one with the self-control. I know I would have kept going.

Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he slowly removes his jacket and his shirt and undershirt. Then he takes off his belt and lowers his pants. I stare openly, feeling myself leaking pre-come into my boxers. He pulls off his shoes and socks and then slides his own boxers down his legs, revealing his erection.

As hard as I try to keep eye contact, I can't help but look down every few seconds. I want him so much.

He slowly climbs back onto the bed and rests his body over mine, supporting himself on his knees. Without speaking he kisses me gently, not too roughly or intensely. Still trying to keep it slowed down. But he does start to take off my belt while we kiss. I kick off my shoes and socks, and when he starts taking off my pants I lift my butt to help.

Finally we're both naked, and as we press together soft moans escape us through our kissing. It's almost torturous, all the touching and all the contact but no quick-paced let's-just-get-to-an-orgasm-as-fast-as-possible part. Even though I haven't been _with_ a guy in the sense that I will be with House tonight, I have fooled around with guys a few times between high school and med school, and then it was always just as much touching as possible as fast as possible. It had always been just sex, never love. And as much as I'm craving release, as difficult as it is not to just thrust against House until I come, I don't want to because I want to make love with him.

So we keep our hands away from each other's hard-ons for the time being, not trusting ourselves to just go at it and end things. Since it is my first time this way, I know it will take awhile for me to be ready, and I tell myself my patience will be rewarded.

I stare into House's glowing cobalt eyes as he touches inside me, opening me, stretching me, preparing me. I am a little nervous because I know there will be some pain, but I'm putting my trust into him.

After awhile he strokes my penis with his free hand to keep me aroused or let me know we'll be moving ahead soon or whatever...I close my eyes in the pleasure and "hmm" contentedly. I want to touch him, too, so I reach my hand out. I locate his hip and then find him, feeling out his shape and gripping it gently, getting a feel. He murmurs a few nonsense syllables and something that might have been my name.

"All right," he says, and I open my eyes to look at him. He kisses me. I love him.

House sits down on the bed and takes ahold of my legs, maneuvering them so I'm straddling him. Then he holds onto my hips and, watching my face, very very slowly enters me. I squeeze my eyes shut because it does hurt a little, even with the preparation, but I still want it. I feel his hand on my cheek and hold it, kissing his palm to tell him it's okay.

We don't move for a moment, just waiting to get used to it, but then I look at my House and smile. He stares at me for a second. Then he whispers a near-silent "I love you," and kisses me before beginning to move slowly inside me. He also keeps a hand on me, stroking me at the same slow pace he's started thrusting at. I close my eyes and murmur that I love him too.

For a few minutes it's just sort of confusion, a combination of pain and pleasure and so much newness and arousal and him and his hands, my hands on him, touching whatever parts of him I can. But then he hits the spot right there inside me and I gasp out in surprise, clenching whatever part of him his nearest, which happens to be an arm.

"What?" he asks, looking slightly alarmed. "Did I hurt you?"

I can't speak at first. I shake my head and then find my voice. "There," I whisper. "Again. Please."

He smiles and resumes his rhythm, starting to go a little bit faster, and hits my prostate again. This time I whimper, throwing my head back against the bed and pressing my pelvis to him, nudging his stomach with my dick. "Oh god," I whisper, feeling sweat streaming down my face and body. "More."

**I've never been so turned on in my life. Not even when Stacy surprised me by waiting naked in my office for our 3-year anniversary.**

**Wilson's body is shuddering underneath me. His eyes are pressed shut in pleasure and his erection is throbbing in my hand, the tip poking my stomach. I run the hand not holding his dick through his sweaty hair. God he's so hot. He feels so good pressing all around me. It's taking every ounce of self-control not to just ram myself into him again and again, but I don't want to hurt him and I want it to last.**

**So I just move, back and forth, staring at the muscles rippling in his body. I squeeze and play with his cock, not enough to bring him off before me. I listen to his moans and whimpers of pleasure and occasionally make some of my own. I can't help it. He feels so different from a woman, and in some ways...so much better.**

"**You're so good, Wilson," I breathe, and he opens his eyes to smile dazedly at me. I lean forward, closer to him. My lips find his ear and I whisper that I love him. I can tell he's getting close, from the way he's moving back against me and the way his moans are just getting louder and more intense. It's a relief because holding back just gets closer and closer to impossible the closer I get to my own release. I'm feeling, between the layer of lubricant, his skin against me, against every inch of me, and the friction as I slide back and forth, again and again. The heat and the sweat and the constant movement, the constant stimulation. It's driving me crazy and I want and need more of it.**

**I'm going faster and I can't help it, and I'm pumping his dick just as fast because all my body is moving as one now beyond my control. I'm hearing moans and cries coming from both of us now, lost as to what's coming from who. My body is jerking and I can't stop it, I'm riding waves of such a high as I don't think I've felt before, and I keep thinking it's it and I can't go any higher, but then I feel the stimulation everywhere just taking it up another notch, again and again. I'm calling Wilson's name and moving in ways I don't even know and at last it all crashes over me and I can't speak or breathe; I just keep moving until it's done.**

I can't take my eyes off his body, moving back and forth beyond his control. I watch the muscles and I watch his face and just stare. It's agonizing because I'm feeling so much everywhere and I want to close my eyes with the intensity but I can't because I have to look at him. I'm feeling him inside me and he's coming inside me and even though I was sort of expecting it it still comes as a surprise. His hand is clenching me almost enough to hurt, still moving, still bringing me ever closer and I know I'm there and I know watching him helps. I'm so close, just right there and I push into him, push myself against him in every way I can. I moan his name and put my hand on his to help him along. And it's there and I'm crying out, trying to breathe and to keep my eyes open, keep watching him, keep pressing against him instead of just falling back onto the bed. But I don't even need to worry about that because he's finishing just as I'm starting, and he collapses on me, pushing both of us onto the bed completely pressed together with our hands trapped between us. I throw my head back and murmur his name, finding the back of his neck with my free hand to hold while I come down from the high.

After a moment I'm aware of his breath against my left shoulder. I free my hand from between us and so does he. I hold him against me, feeling the pounding of his heart as well as the pounding of my own. We both just breathe.


	19. Chapter 19

**It occurs to me that I might be getting to heavy for him, but I'm not moving until he complains. Despite being sticky with Wilson's come, I'm perfectly comfortable exactly where I am. Except for one little thing.**

"**Wilson?" I murmur.**

"**Hmm?"**

**I try to think of a time I've ever heard this much contentment in his voice. I don't think I have. He's facing the ceiling and my face is in his shoulder, so he can't see my quick smile before I speak again. "This wedding is missing something."**

**He turns his head, trying to catch my eye, and I lift my head from his shoulder to oblige him. "Cake," I explain.**

**Wilson laughs and strokes my hair affectionately. Then he kisses me. "I think there's a room service menu on the dresser. I'm sure they have cake."**

"**You mean you're gonna make me get up?" I whine.**

**He chuckles. "Well I certainly can't get up unless you do. And we can't order room service without calling them."**

**I grumble wordlessly, not actually mad of course, and get up. I find a towel on the floor and wipe myself off before grabbing my cane and making my way over to the dresser for the room service menu. There's no point in pulling any of my clothes back on; if I have my way they're just gonna come off again within the next hour anyway.**

**Wilson also gets up, but pleases me by following my example of remaining in the nude. He puts the crap that fell out of his suitcase back into it and pushes it out of the way before going into the bathroom to clean himself up.**

**I stare blatantly at him as he returns to the bed. His cheeks redden a little, but he doesn't look away. He joins me and I return my attention to the menu. We order dinner and dessert, and while we wait I open the champagne bottle I ordered ahead of time. The plan was to have it right after our little ceremony, but obviously we were a bit distracted.**

**And we get distracted again within five minutes of opening the champagne. Wilson toasts us, and despite the clichéness of it I agree, and we both down our glasses faster than champagne is meant to be drunk. Then Wilson kisses me, so so much for any other activity.**

**It doesn't progress to sex this time, probably because neither of us wants a knock on the door with a call of "room service!" when we're on the cusp of orgasm, but either that kitchen cooks fast or time flies when you're making out.**

**Wilson jumps when the food arrives, resulting in his nose banging against my jaw, and I laugh. I dare him to answer the door naked; he grins at me and wraps the blanket around himself. He's nuts if he thinks that counts, but within five minutes we're eating, and food takes precedence over nudity bets.**

It is quite something to eat a full meal in bed. With House. Naked. He jokes that this way I won't stain my clothes if I spill anything. And when I do accidentally get some sauce on my chest, my reaching for my napkin is in vain because House simply licks it off me.

After dinner, of course, is the cake. House ordered chocolate fudge and I ordered vanilla hazelnut. He asks if I want to try a bite of his, and when I agree he grabs a chunk with his fingers and stuffs it in my face. Then he laughs while I nearly choke to death. But it is pretty good cake, and I get my revenge by shoving a piece of my cake in his face when he's not looking.

"Hey!" House protests through the mouthful. He swallows. "That was not what I had in mind for tasting the cake you got."

"Oh?" I say in a mock-concerned voice, turning back to my plate.

I don't get to finish my cake because House proceeds to show me what he _did_ have in mind for tasting it. It involves shoving his tongue into my mouth. I don't complain because I get to taste his chocolate cake again.

It's better this time around.

House takes control, kissing me and kissing me. He moves his lips to get to every part of my face, then down my neck and across my clavicle and chest. I murmur wordlessly at the contact, leaning down on the bed and relaxing, moving a few plates and a fork onto the nightstand and out of my way.

He rests his body over mine, and I stroke his arm and neck, staring at him as he mouths me, now nearing my belly-button. I have a feeling I know where he's going with this and shudder at the thought. All the blood in my body rushes toward the area I suspect House's mouth is heading and I close my eyes in anticipation.

I'm not disappointed.

After House kisses his way down my stomach to my pelvis, his mouth closes over the tip of my penis, which he proceeds to suckle.

"Oh, god," I whisper. It's so warm and wet and...gentle for now, but definitely enough pressure to keep me interested.

His tongue comes out of his mouth, flicking against me, light and teasing. My breath catches in my throat. I stroke his hair, staring at him stimulate me. I think about doing this to him later, making him feel this...god I want to make him feel this!

I dribble some pre-come into House's mouth involuntarily and he pauses, chuckling. "Excited, are we?" he asks, and he kisses me. My musing that at least I don't taste that bad only lasts about a nanosecond. When House is kissing me thinking about anything else becomes impossible. I'm thinking about his mouth, what it's doing to my mouth, what it did to my dick a minute ago...

Maybe he was reading my mind, because he pulls away, staring into my eyes. "Mmm, gotta stop this," he says. "Got better things to do with my mouth." He grins at me and then returns to demonstrating said better things. All of which seem to involve teasing, touching me just enough to get a reaction but not enough to bring me close to coming. I wonder if he's seeing how long he can make me last.

Whatever he's planning on, he's good at it. I lie against the bed and let the feelings take over me. I fantasize about doing this to him in a little while and it turns me on as much as anything. Whispering his name, stroking his hair, holding his hand, I get lost and I don't think I ever want to be found. If this is being in love then I wasted my life, but I can't mourn for the lost years because I see so many ahead of me. So many years of _this_. And not just the sex part of the this, as...well, I don't think I can find an adjective strong enough to describe it...but that's only one part of it. It's the intimacy. He isn't touching me this way because he wants me to get him off later. He's touching me this way because he wants to be intimate with me, to make me feel these things, be with me when I feel them, be the one causing me to feel them. And I want him to be the one, and the only one. I don't want to share this with anyone but him. And I would add "ever again" to that, but I can't because it's never been _this_ with anyone but him. I've slept with people I cared with but what we had was never _this_. It never could be.

**I've always wondered if I could do that to Wilson. If I could make him go nuts, lose all control, lower his guard and inhibitions completely. I think he did. I don't think it gets better than this. I think he lost it completely, and I love it.**

**I kiss him. And I know he wants to do the same thing to me, and I'll let him. I will let myself lose control for him. I vowed to give myself to him completely and I will.**

**It's easier than I thought it would be.**

**The man's a natural. I stare at him as he touches me, as he pleasures me, and it's easy to let myself go. I've been waiting to for so long, I've been wanting to for so long. With him.**

**He kisses my body, touching his lips to me everywhere. He tells me that he loves me and shows it in this way...he takes something that can be so impersonal and makes it intimate.**

**This is what I wanted.**

**Sex is sex is sex, but it's not the same!**

**I can't count the number of women and, very very occasionally, men I've paid to do this to me. Same arousal, same motions, but yet...I haven't anything like **_**this**_** since Stacy. And even then...**

**It would be a lie to say I love Wilson **_**more**_** than I once loved Stacy, but what I have with him is so different. I appreciated her while I had her, but I never had to wait for her. With Wilson, I've wanted it, anticipated it...probably longer than I'm even aware of. I don't even know how long I've been in love with him.**

**And in a way it makes it more intimate. I loved Stacy, but we rushed into a relationship, just suddenly together. With Wilson, we've had years for it to build. It did, it has. Twenty years all leading up to this, to him touching me, not because he's paid to or because he wants the feeling of release, but because he loves me and wants to show me.**

**I feel it build in me. I stare at him, touching him back. It just gets better and better, more and more intense.**

—

After we finish making love again I go into the bathroom and draw a bath. When I booked the room, I made sure it had an extra-large tub with a Jacuzzi. Big enough for two. When the tub is full of steaming water, we both get in, relaxing and talking. We finish the champagne and get better acquainted with each other's bodies.

When I get out, he stares at me while I towel off and put on my sleep pants and an undershirt. I don't mind. When he gets out and puts clothes back on for the first time since after our ceremony, I stare at him, too.

It isn't late enough to sleep yet, really, so we get in bed and I let House choose a a movie from the wide pay-per-view collection. He lets me lean against his body, resting my head on his chest. I wonder if he secretly likes it as much as I do, and decide to pretend he does.

**I know Wilson's not really watching the movie, and I'm not either. It's not really late yet, and there's a million other things we could be doing in this city, but we have all week. Tonight is just about us.**

**He starts to fall asleep on me about a half hour into the movie, and I'm guessing the three rounds of sex probably had something to do with it. I'm tired, too, though I could probably go for another round if we wanted. I decide to make four our goal for tomorrow.**

**I turn the TV off, and Wilson jerks awake at the sound. He looks at me, confused. "What? Is the movie over?"**

"**Yeah," I lie, and kiss him.**

"**Hmm," he murmurs when we pull back. He smiles at me and runs a couple fingers through my hair before settling back down against me. His hand rubs circles on my side, sensual, but it quickly stills and within minutes he's asleep.**

**I watch him for a minute. After I'm sure he's out, I stroke his hair for a second. It is kind of surreal. I settle down in the bed, getting comfortable enough to fall asleep myself.**

**Before I close my eyes, I hold my left hand in front of my face.**

**The moonlight streaming through the window reflects off the thin band around my finger.**

**I'm smiling.**

END


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